That's why I stay
by TimeLadyMycroft
Summary: Louise Holmes is in trouble and uncle Mycroft wouldn’t answer his phone, her only way out is to call uncle Sherlock with who she doesn’t talk since her mother died. In a roller coaster of happenings, some really violent, she start to wonder if maybe her family have a salvation. ― Johnlock, Mormor and Mystrade fanfic (mostly Mystrade) ― passes after tgg and before asib
1. Deducing away from the rules

― I'm calling your uncle for this, young lady! ― the bold and fat man standing in front of me looks threatening. I'm sitting in his incredibly small room trying to force the most bored face possible, but I can't help my hands of shaking. It was going to be a very long day, it was the kind of day that my uncle wouldn't answer his phone, the kind of day that he wouldn't answer the queen, neither were his assistent. So my only destiny was stay in that tiny place with that disgusting man.

But that was definitely my fought, uncle warned me that morning to keep out of trouble, I think he forgot that putting myself in some mess was my only and true talent, well, and annoying him.

― You can call him the way you want, but my uncle is not answering his phone today, he wouldn't answer the Prime Minister today. He told me that this morning. — He probably knew that I was going to screew something up today.

― Oh, he is going to answer me ― he dials fast in his desk phone, the lage fingers remind me of big sausages, but I know that's a thing not just because of his weight, that was a reflection of his heart. A very trouble one. I take my eyes out of it, that wasn't the best of moments to play deduction.

And that was mostly because I was screwed, I know that, in the moment he find out, uncle Myke will make a speech about how I was irresponsible and stupid. I hold my moaning of pure suffer.

― You, brat, are going to be expelled for this... Saying those horrible things to your teacher... those... Lies...

― I was not lying! Her husband is cheating on her! She already knew, somehow, I just agree that it is totally possible! ― I bend over the desk, he was not question my deductions. He couldn't even realize that he had last than a year to live. I relax on the chair and my eyes get wide... Ok, were the bloody hell did this came from?

— Lies!! ― I look up in a jump when he hit the big hands on the desk, but I'm unable to feel frighten, part of me still try to remember in what part of his body or behaviour is his life expectation, I can't be so stupid that even my brain is faster than me! ― Her husband is a very good man who would never cheat her!

For a moment, I ignore how certain he is and put my attention on the big pulsating veine on his front head, too pulsating to be something healthy. I pass my eyes through his desk, he didn't took his medicine that morning. Maybe he's just late, I try to convince myself, but he'll forget it, I know. Even if forget was not the word. He was feeling the signs and the little organizer with his medication was right in his face! He was definitely going to forget, he was going to ignore it.

His hand start to turn a little blue while his watch squeeze the skin, his blood pressure is too high. Maybe he's dying. The idea terrifies me. I swallow hard, my uncle would kill me if I witness another death.

— You wait right there ― he takes a deep breath, putting his clothes straight, and pulling his cheap tie, I can feel his breath going in hard ― I'm going after your uncle other numbers ― I wanted to say that I knew that numbers, but he didn't sound like someone who would listen to me ― And don't touch anything, freak.

When he's gone and I'm alone a strange sensation that I lost something takes over me for a instant. I decide to ignore it, uncle Myke sometimes says that my brain work faster than me, and that was just fine, later I would find out what it was.

Ignoring the feeling, part of me focus on the word "freak", I don't know actually why, he wasn't the first to call me like that and wouldn't be the last, and it doesn't make any difference, it wasn't a lie.

The minutes pass, I think about putting his medicines right in front of him in the table, maybe there still hope for him to notice it and he might survive more that ten mounths, but I guess that fits in "touching" things. I force myself to stay still and be patient, that part was the hardest, be patient wasn't a virtue in my family, uncle Myke for example barely manage to hear my principals on parenting reunions. Perks of adopting a kid, in my opinion...

And that's the point when I start to get bored, it was like an actual fisical pain speeding through my muscles, almost forcing me to move, do something. But, being racional, that would be the stupidest idea, that was the feeling that normally put me in trouble, and "I couldn't bare stay sit any longer" wasn't the kind of excuse that my uncle would accept.

I try looking around, but that only takes me to analyze his long coat next to the window, it was full of cat fur, at least three different cats and human hair, long and blonde human hair. I role my eyes, looking away, the idea of someone like him having a girlfriend personally offended me. Maybe it's not something like that. I look again, some of the hair was partly under the lapel. Girlfriend. Wew.

I turn my look back to the desk, back to the pill organizer, something was bothering me. The pressure did bother him, and the solution was right there, why he didn't take it? A flash goes through my mind, a big red screech on his right arm, allergy maybe. But he was taking the medication long enough to realize that he had difficulty remembering to take it, that's why he brought the organizer. Why he would start having allergies now? Maybe you stressed him too much, Louise. I shake my head, convincing myself to stop deducing, it only leads to trouble. I decide to stand up, approaching the door, he was taking too long anyway, maybe he had a heart attack and needed help. I press my ear against the wood, closing my eyes.

That was my favorite game with uncle Myke, he was the kind of person that wrote so hard that, hearing from the door, I could understand what he was writing only by the sound of the pen against the paper. It was the kind of thing that his assistant didn't like. She use to say that I wouldn't understand my uncle's work. I don't only understand, I also didn't approve it, and choose to forgive him, even if he doesn't need it. I would always forgive uncle Myke.

― And what do you want with her? ― I can hear him, he is in the end of the corridor, back turn on me, his voice shake a little and I wish to know why. A small voice answer him, I can't understand, probably it's coming from a phone, but I know it's a man with a very gentle and soft voice ― Yes, she guess it... ― the soft voice it's very calm ― Maybe without the kid would be easier... Yes. It would be very easier if the freak just stop existing. ― I step away from the door in a grasp, an infinity of situations coming up in my head, and uncle Myke wouldn't answer his phone! ― Of how much money are you talking about? ― I still can hear him, probably it's closer, but I don't hear his answer ― When are you sending your men?

I have the disgusting sensation that I have been given a price, like an product of some kind, and my uncle wouldn't answer his phone! The desperate parts of me start repeating that I don't have anyone else. Only one person, but it was against the rules, I shouldn't even have his phone number to be sincere.

― Fuck it ― I push the chair against the door, even knowing that my principal could easily break it open and I grab the phone on the table, diling fast. In the third tone a very gentle and unknown voice answer it.

― Hello ― I answer, trying not to sound terrified, as usual it don't work, because I had to take some time to get myself use to the talking part ― Is Sherlock Holmes there?

― In the moment? Shooting at the wall ― the strange voice sound very calm and yet very annoyed ― You would like to leave a message?

― No, please ― I hear footsteps coming through the corridor ― can you please tell him that it's his niece? It's an emergency!

Author's note: please forgive the poor english


	2. the nice soldier

― No, please ― I hear footsteps coming through the corridor ― can you please tell him that it's his niece? It's an emergency!

I hear voices in a short discussion on the background, but don't focus enough to understand something, my objective was listening my principal approaching. Maybe he was talking with the man with soft voice, still scamming.

So the other felling start, one that had nothing to do with family, I feel incredibly silly. I was panicking about something I wasn't sure of, calling a man who probably didn't care anymore, actually running away from the responsibility of screwing up things again. My chest suddenly is heavy, I shouldn't be doing this. Uncle Mycroft would be so upset with me, like always.

I close my eyes, pushing the fear away, uncle Myke is caring enough to make me paranoid, I was only doing as he said. He was the British government after all and it was fine to be careful. Maybe not with uncle Sherlock, but I had no choice.

— Speak ― that voice seems to go down through my chest, the deep and strong tone takes me to another time, a happier, when everything was simple, a terrible sensation of course, in that other time that same voice was caring and patient, now it was just a a cold voice on the phone.

― I heard my principal talking on the telephone about someone coming to pick me up for money. Please, uncle Sherlock ― that words feel like glass in my throat, cutting me open —, uncle Mycroft will not answer his phone today!

― And I suppose he doesn't know that you have my number — I let go the air from my lungs heavily, he was actually deducing me!!

― I took it from uncle Mycroft's little notebook, I'm sorry, sir, but please, help me! Please! ― the silence on the other side of the line kill me a little, I want to say that my principal have many reasons to hate me, but I can't force my voice out, the little panic of the sensation of not speaking join forces with the tiny voice saying " He's hesitating because he doesn't care anymore". The hyperventilating start small and I feel my legs weak.

— We are on our way ― than turn it off.

I stand still for a moment before putting the phone back in place. Uncle Sherlock's voice was one of the things I lost thanks to my lack of self control and stupidness. I turn myself back to the door. Wait a moment... What reasons my principal had to hate me? I was going to say reasons to Sherlock, but what reasons? Well, I was very annoying and all, but that was all he needed to sell me for someone who probably just hate my uncle?

My eyes run back to the coat. The woman with cats wasn't a girlfriend, was it? It was a lover! In his big fingers I remember to have seeing a wedding ring. I put my head between my hands. A wedding ring with details on red, just like the one on Miss... Just like the one on my teacher's hand! I raise my head staring in surprise to the wall. The teacher who suspect on her husband! A dark haired teacher. He was really having an affair. I don't even knew details about and I confirmed it! Oh sweet Lord, he had a very good reason to hate me.

I sit on the floor, looking at the door, my hands were shaking, I don't even want to know why he is taking so long, so many things were going through my mind in that moment. I was actually scared. My uncle who wasn't part of my life for six years now was coming for me, my other uncle who really care about me wasn't even knowing about the happenings and somebody was ready to pay for me.

And I was forgetting something. Hell knew what was it.

The door lock start to hit, and I put myself on my foot in a jump, hearing his bad words, it's almost comic how I can almost see the vein in his front head pulsing

― You help someone to put a price in me! ― I cross my arms in my chest ― Just because I help your wife to realize the garbage you are, and you know, asshole? That doesn't change the fact that you are a disgusting traitor!

― Listen here, whore ― the door shakes hardly, I'm dead if it breaks ― You don't know a thing! You are just and orfan piece of nothingness that no one want, who thinks it's so smart, but the true is that you are just an abandoned kid that the uncle had pitty on.

I convince myself to ignore him, it was the true after all, the proof was uncle Mycroft, who would never, in ordinary conditions, take a child into his house. But it wasn't time to think about it, even hurting very badly.

I have to be calm in that moment, taking a deep breath, I was scared before and in that moment I was angry too. Uncle Myke was always saying that sentiment only put itself in our lives and mess everything up. I have to calm down. I close my eyes and focus on a good memory, my uncle help me transforme my mind in a house to keep my memories, it was very useful when I have to be calm.

― C'mon, darling ― I can almost hear my mother's voice deep in my head — Why is that woman buying that wine? Deduce, Louise.

My heart slow down a little, and I convince myself to move, to find something to fight with if is needed. I run my eyes through the room and end up on the desk. Pens? Nope. I opened the drawers and started to throw things out, but there's only paper and a box of pills. I take the medicine and bring closer to my face. Viagra. Oh sweet Jesus, ew. I throw it back inside and step away from the desk. Ew. Ew. Ew.

― Vascular dilation? He has heart problems! Why somebody would do this? ― I shake my head, man!! ― OK, let's try not to be an smarty and find something to hit him with — I open a sarcastic smile, I could almost imagine my uncle saying that.

The door shakes more, making an very weird noise, my heart skip a hit and his voice gets more angry and senseless. All that because of money, or to save the marriage he was destroying himself. But that doesn't made any sense, he was actually desperate. Why? Why so desperate to get in? The man in the phone was getting the door open anyway if uncle Sherlock didn't came sooner. Than why? Angry? He wanted to hit me? It doesn't make sense! All that... Panic.

— You are scared, aren't you? ― the nocking and his cursing turns into a heavy breathing ― Who is it? Who would be powerful enough to be so scary? He gave you an order, stay inside with me. Even if it doesn't really make any difference! He know uncle Myke is too busy right now! Or he wouldn't waste time calling you and paying you, he is obviously powerful enough to just take me ― I fell my face turn paler ― Unless he know me enough to know that I would hear, he know how I would feel hearing somebody selling me. Why he would do something like that? How he knows me? Who IS he?

― The devil ― his resigned voice is low and sound pathetic. I was raised by a woman who believe only in the good part of that history, and lived with a man who didn't even bother to remember the existence of supernatural beings, but the away that man said it made a shiver go down in my spine ― Now open the door, you know how much you deserve his attention, you and your uncle — I let my head fall in my shoulder, interesting choice of words ― All of you, worshipers of the fire.

I shake my head, that sounded to crazy and illogical, but kind of funny. Worshipers of the fire... I can't stop my smile. Where did he took that? It just sounded so weird that even him stayed in silence for a few seconds.

― Louise? ― a different voice come from outside, not a soft voice that would mean my doom, but a very calm and deep one ― Open it.

I obey, involuntary shaking, reveling a very tall, tin and pale man, with angry blue eyes and curly dark hair. The sensation it's look through a window of time and space, it was a man from another time, with a few differences, the man on that days never would look at me so indifferent. My heart seems to fall from my chest.

― And who are you? — the fat and very angry old man looks challenging to my uncle ― Get the bloody hell out of my school, freak.

Sherlock just give him a cold glare, analysing from the toe to top.

― 8 months — he warms. I knew what he was talking about ― Walking, Louise, we have to leave.

― Yes, sir ― I ran inside to grab my backpack, in the way back I just stare at him ― Actually, uncle ― the cold glare comes to me, and for a moment I have to focus ― S-sir, five months, he is cheating his wife with a woman who have cats, and he is allergic, but it's quite obvious that he isn't taking antiallergics neither it's taking his other medication, that's because he is using Viagra. Five months at most.

Everything happens very fast, in a moment the principal goes to very pale to very red and with a large hand raise in the air. I know what's he is going to do and shamelessly my only reaction it's close my eyes. A moment goes by and nothing happens, When I look at him, he's with his face in the wall, and arm pulled to his back. A blonde and short man it's holding him with violence in his face, blue eyes too angry to be true.

― Have you seeing your size compared to hers, you bastard? ― he was legitimate angry, and because of me. An warm sensation goes through my chest.

The blonde man push him and step away, breathing heavily, but soon he put himself together and turn with a smile to me. A military man with such a sweet look was almost weird, and I manage only smiled back.

My uncle it's watching us, bored and with not very friendly expression, the military puts his hand on my shoulder, trying to be nice. My stomach twist and I swallow hard feeling the blood leave my face. I keep the smile, he wouldn't hurt me, I was just being silly.

― Hello, Louise, my name it's John Watson, I'm your uncle's friend. You don't even look like Mycroft.

I let my head fall to the side, friend? I don't look like uncle Myke? John Watson got himself elevated on my concepts of interesting.

― Uncle Mycroft must be very happy about that, Mr. Watson, I believe. ― make my smile larger ― I'm more alike my mother, sir.

― He is not... You father? ― he looks at Sherlock, who just keeped his eyes in the end of the corridor, obviously wanting to leave. The soldier makes me realize that he probably didn't knew of my experience until that phonecall, why would he knows, right?

— May we go now? ― Sherlock start to walk away and I feel my heart heavy, it was going to be really difficult be close to that man.

Mr. Watson role his eyes and takes my backpack from my hands and makes me follow him after Sherlock. His caring way was kind strange for me, not even uncle Myke was like that, maybe normal people was supposed to be like that.

Sherlock follows a path that will take us to the back parts of the school, he walks with caution through the students. Everyone just stares at him, strangely, maybe they never imagined that the Holmes in the name of the creepy Louise was the same of the famous detective.

When we reach outside my mind goes into a self-defense state, I look for treats everywhere, part of me it's just nervous to be alone with uncle Sherly and his friend. I want uncle Myke, right there, I want him to hit the umbrella slowly in my head telling me to focus. I shake my head and look to Sherlock. Who was that man now?

Before we get to the cab on the other side of the street that was in front of my school, we watch three well dressed men entering the building. The one who seemed the boss was very blonde and tall with his face covered in scary scars. I notice the different guns spared on his body, and for some reason I believe there's more.

When they are vanish, Sherlock walks to the car. I sit between them, hands shaking in tension, John doesn't know what to do so he just smile at me. Uncle Sherlock doesn't even looks at me, he must be so angry. Well of course, he was obligated to see me, was enough to end his day, I believe.

― My house it's that way ― I point through the window, finger visibility shaking ― We can turn on that one, it's the way that the driver normally do.

― We cannot leave you alone! ― John puts his hand on my head, smiling ― You are only 13 we can't leave you like that ― I wonder how does he knows my age. He looks at my uncle, who it's very focus on an invisible point in the air ― Am I right, Sherlock?

― It's what it seams ― he answer without looking at us, but doesn't give a order to the driver, he had already thought about it, a new warm sensation comes to me, maybe he still cares a little.

― But I can't go into uncle Sherlock house. It's a rule ― I try to argue looking from one to the other, John just looks in confusion to Sherlock, he didn't knew about the rules, probably was weird to him.

― I know what are your rules ― he does look at me, but his tone makes my hands shake more ― I help in their creation. ― I didn't knew that, and it only makes me feel worst for some reason ― But it was also a rule not to get in touch with me ― he stare at me from the corner of his eyes, making me feel expose ― Now, because of this, you will break another rule.

The car gets silence when he back on staring the nothingness, John makes eyes contact with me, almost verbalizing questions, but I only move my look to the rainy London holding my hands together, scared.


	3. The dark and dusty flat

Beside my uncle's flat there's a coffee shop, I wonder how it's like inside, but I would probably never know, uncle Myke would guarantee that. I jump out of the cab after John, and observe the place. It seems nice.

― Are you ok? ― John asks while put his hand back in my shoulder, he is actually worried, watching, really caring about me. I almost smile, wanting to say he shouldn't be worried with me, but I can't, it was only for a day, less of a day, any harm would come from that, it was good having someone else caring for me. Well, besides uncle Myke, he worries about me, constantly. ― You are pale, Sherlock it's only worried, somebody tried to kidnap you.

In the moment he says that Sherlock passes between us, in a hurry to get upstairs. I observe him, felling guilty for making him sad and angry with my company.

― Have you ever heard of me, Mr. Watson? ― I rose my eyes to his, the very beautiful blue was confused with the situation. The answer was no of course. I abrace my body, trying to keep the cold wind of London away, or it was just the fear, the anxiety ― How long do you my uncle?

― Three years now ― he looks to the door, permitting me to observe his profile, he was a handsome man, his expression of confusion it's really cute ― He never said anything about having a niece, a sister. Why?

― Sherlock Holmes doesn't like being my uncle ― I let my head fall, I can't take his eyes looking for mine. The cold wind get itself inside my clothes, but I just accept it, it's fine ― He isn't worried, he just can't bear my presence.

― Because of Mycroft's rules?

I remember that day, the day of the rules, when I last see uncle Sherlock. The same uncle Sherly who use to call me intelligent, talk with my mom into happiness and play the violin for me. My godfather. That day he doesn't even looked at me, he knew it was my fault and didn't want to see me again. And I knew he was going to be just like granny and grandad, just another gost, as dead to me as my mother, at the time just as dead as my voice.

That was the first day of me going under uncle Mycroft's sheets, to afraid to sleep alone, needing to much a hug, but to scared of touching him. In the day after he arrange himself in the bed to give me space to feel safe. The first of the little things he's always doing to make me happy.

— Uncle Mycroft have no fault at this, Mr. Watson, people always think that, but I'm the real guilty. Uncle Sherlock it's the one who knows who I am. ― I force a smile ― May we come in now? I'm cold.

Inside it's dark and dusty, it's an old building, impressively well cared, and it has the sound. I bound my head as far as I can, trying to ignore the memories, keep the violin out. The flash of a bright house, full with that sound, and always with kind hands on mine. I lift my chin and take a deep breath, I had to be strong. Uncle Myke would soon be there.

— So... — he cleans his throat softly, a little bothered ― If he's in such a bad mood, let's first meet a person ― he guides me to a door on the right, without knocking he open it a little and take a look inside ― She is a very special person to Sherlock and me. Mycroft usually it's very inpatient with her.

Not just with her, I want to say, but he is the kind of person that judges my uncle, so I let it be.

― Who? ― I ask instead, while he takes me inside showing me a very nice and clean kitchen, the smell of tea it's so delicious even though there isn't a ketle in the fire, the owner should be such a nice person, but there's no one inside.

— Mrs. Hudson? — John calls, confusion face, I wonder if that it's just he's normal face — Maybe she's out?

In a perfect timing a noise makes us both jump a little, It's someone trying to open the front door, with some difficulty. It was a small and skinny old lady, with dark hair and a sweet face. Just lika a grandma should be.

― Hello, John, glad you're back — she smiles, trying to go through the door with lots of supermarket bags. I step forward to help her ― Oh, hello, and who are you?

― Louise Holmes, ma'am, my pleasure ― Uncle Mycroft would be proud with my politeness. She recognize the last name and analyze the short dark hair and the pale face, linking points ― I'm Sherlock's niece ― the violin upstairs let go a high and protesting note making me bound my head. I see John's eyes rolling while he takes the rest of the bags of her ― even though he isn't very satisfied with that.

— Well, it's a pleasure, dear, but... don't might me please... Who in it's sanity would have a child with Mycroft Holmes?

John walks fast to the kitchen, hidding a smile, maybe he wondered the same when meet me. It was funny for them, but I take a moment to enjoy the Idea. Mycroft Holmes was already all I have, being my father was a simple solution for many of my problems. I would be Louise Holmes like always, but with a lovely (alive) aunt and uncle, maybe my grandparents would still love me. I let scape a little smile.

― Uncle Myke isn't my father, ma'am ― I let the smile go politely wider ― He must be very grateful for that.

We put the bags on the kitchen table, hearing her talking non-stop about how the market was a complete mess. John start to get impatient, he was just like uncle Myke, ordinary subjects were boring for them. But I was different, it was actually boring and pointless, yet the normal and calm life sounded interesting, peaceful.

When she talks about making us tea, John start guiding me upstairs, the violin was silent, and my hands shake again, fearing what I would find up there. The flat was small and not as dark as the first floor, dusty, but brighter. And it was a pure mess. Papers and books were everywhere, even on the old sofa. The shelf, with more books and dust where full organize in no particular order. The only part of the room that show some sense was two couches in the middle, turn to each other, if I was younger I would imagine the two of them talking, talking about how dusty they were.

— Like it? ― John stops right beside me, a weird pride smile on his face. I wonder if I should let go a sarcastic cough, but it's better not ― I know it's a little messy, but it's comfortable. I would show you the kitchen, but I don't think it's safe ― he points to the glass doors on the left ― Dead body or something like that.

I force a smile, the dead body wasn't a problem, but I'm grateful for not having to see uncle Sherlock, he was going to be rude and cold, and wanting or not I was vulnerable to that.

― You know, Mr. Watson, my uncle probably will come straight here after his metting, and he'll probably be furious, so I'll not have time to say goodbye and thank you... ― I give him my hand ― Thanks for saving me, sir.

He grabs my hand and shake it, almost comical.

― It's dr. Watson, Louise, and please call me John ― he pulls my hand, guiding me to the biggest couch and sit me, sitting on the smaller one ― Mycroft has no reason to be angry at you, if you haven't called us, some disgrace could have happened.

― Oh, he knows that, but he'll be angry with the idea that someone almost took me from him ― John opens a sweet smile, as if the idea of a caring Mycroft was curious ― And than he'll be angry with me because I called Sherlock. Angry plus angry and I'm to blame.

― He gets angry with you frequently? It's impossible to me imagine Mycroft as a loving relative, you know?

I feel he's almost worried with me, he was thinking the same of others. Probably believe that uncle Myke was inpatient with me, maybe aggressive. The Ice Man certainly would be cruel with a kid, he could almost justify violence to educate. But they were wrong, he simply wasn't like that, Mycroft Holmes was only reservate in the beginning, after all those years he became somebody lovely in his way, sweet sometimes, hard when needy, but incapable of any cruelty, at least with me.

― He does the best he can, sometime even more... Uncle Myke didn't knew anything about me or any kind of children until I fall in his life, and right after losing my mother ― I ignore the little light in his face in comprehension. I remember those days, Mycroft didn't knew how to talk with me, and I wouldn't answer anyway, I didn't had a voice ― It was a hard time for us.

On that my cellphone start to ring on the backpack "umbrella", Rihanna, because my sense of humor permits that. I stand my hand to take it, already hearing the killing voice on the other side, but John it's faster, taking it first, he narrows a finger to me, asking for silence.

― Mycroft ― I can almost hear the surprise silence on the other side, John's smile get wider, I wonder if he mocks my uncle ― She's fine, nervous, but perfectly ok. She went through a lot, I think you should come here yourself.

John takes the cellphone of the ear, looking at the screen with a playful smile. Uncle Myke turned off I'm his face, as usual, actually.

― Dr. Watson! ― I take my phone out of his hands ― He's going to be worried. Why would you do this?

― He will think twice before get angry with you ― his smile is joyful and I can't not hold mine. Poor uncle Myke ― He's coming, I suppose he went to your school before. We should have warned him.

― Mycroft it's getting slow ― uncle Sherlock opens the glass doors in a strike, a chemical mask on the face and plastic gloves ― He would normally deduce my presence.

I want to say that he was worried and not thinking straight, but Sherlock would mock him. Uncle Myke hated when people laught of him, even he would never admit it. John observes me, waiting, but I was not going to say anything.

Sherlock's presence in the room was heavy, oppressing me, thank Lord ignoring me too. I'm afraid of what he could say, I know he wants to get rid of me, but I don't what to hear him talk something like that. I observe his profile, the tin nose and the cheekbones. He was just like my mother in so many ways, even the curly hair, my hand touch my short hair, it was less curly, less black, but still had some resemble. I wonder how we could have been.

But it was my fault that we weren't anything, and he knew that. My talent of screwing up everything and attract rage set us apart. I took my mother from them, she was the best daughter, the balance between her brothers, impossible not to love. I have taken their pride, and now uncle Myke only have a troublesome kid, my grandparents have to live without their daughter and Sherlock don't have his loved sister.

I face the floor, hating myself, the bile coming up in my throat. I wish uncle Myke come pick me up, I want to go home, have dinner with him, discuss the fact that we need better food, and in the end ask something on the phone. He would simply ignore me and ask chinese food or something like that... I wanted to go home.

― And what do you like to do, Louise? ― John asks, probably noticing my melancholy, ignoring uncle Sherlock.

― Nothing of interesting, Dr. Watson, just study and read ― he looks at Sherlock, comparing us, I know he'll be disappointed, I'm some kind of prion close to Sherlock Holmes ― And play violoncello. It's what I do with most of my time.

— Oh, you play? ― he bound in my direction. I feel that his bigger interesting it's to attract Sherlock's attention, maybe he was the type who believes himself capable of fixing the world — And are you good at it?

— I don't believe I'm good to give this answer, Dr. Watson. Uncle says I have a lot to learn — as in every aspect of my life — and my teacher says that I'm doing fine. Maybe some day I manage to truly get somewhere.

— I will love to be invited for your apresentations — Sherlock let go a dramatic sight, and lock himself back into the kitchen, closing the glass doors behind him — You can call only me, if you prefer not to have such an irritant presence close by. I'm sure I'll be — he makes his voice higher — a better company.

— Dr. Watson — I try to keep my voice stable, be firm, but I can't — my uncle won't like if with keep talking at each other. It's against the rules.

He bounds over to me, looking playful at the glass doors.

— The rules are about Sherlock, not me — he whispers, conspiring — You should come for tea, how about twice a week? Tuesday and Thursday is good for you?

I can keep my mouth shut, he was asking me to break the rules, in many years living with uncle Myke I haven't break any rule, I could, but my uncle would be so disappointed. Yet... He was asking me to visit, a friendly visit. The gentle and funny man, who as my uncle Sherlock's friend wants me to come back. Nobody ever wanted that.

— Sure — I heard my on voice answering — I'll came after school — he relax on the couch, smiling. I realise in a role two things: that I trust him, and that, trusting that stranger, I'm ignoring everything my uncle Myke ever told me — Doctor, you were from the army, right? Here in London?

— Afeganistan, it's already been three years — I realise it's a delicate subject so I don't make any questions. The silence seems to bother him, he clears his throat, looking nervous — And what do you want to do when you're grown, young lady?

— Interpol — I smile, showing my teeth, uncle Mycroft hated to hear that, moaning about law or business — I want the be a psychologist, study human behaviour, find missing people, help.

His surprise amuse me, normally it was the reaction to my answer to that question. His eyes turn to the glass doors, I wonder were his comparing is going, but deeply I don't really want to know. He gives me a surprise smile.

— You seemed to me a more... Office person... — he observes me, I must look so fragile to him — Someone more like..

— Uncle Mycroft — I complete and make my smile larger, agreeing, he wasn't the first who said that. In the government parties, the people who wanted something from my uncle used to say I would be a great politician, they laugh about it, wondering if I would take my uncle's position — Well, yes, but I'm more a person of action, and I wish to work on something I could see how I help people. Uncle Myke save many lives, but he doesn't know the names, faces, I want see, feel, save people, not numbers.

He agrees, seems satisfied with my answer. He bounds again to me, leaning on his knees, again conspiring, but with a proudest voice.

— I'm sure you'll be a great agent, who will save many lives. Just like your uncle Sherlock — I look to the glass doors, something inside me is afraid of what that might mean — The difference is he isn't very attached to the human part of the job — he holds my hand — That will make you a better agent than he would be.

I don't know what to answer, but I don't get the chance of it, footsteps approach on the stairs.

I feel a smile in my face, I recognise that walk, the umbrella it's on the left side of the body, he is angry. When he's on the door, I feel the green eyes on me, meanfull, upset, estressed, asking for explanations, for a full history, apologies if needed.

The perfect suit, the umbrella and the intensity, it was all I needed. Until that moment I couldn't feel anything, I had to ignore the attempt of kidnapping, the fear... But now he was right there and I could feel everything, anything, I didn't have to worry, he would take care of me.


	4. The brigth side, always

I feel a smile on my face, I recognise that walk, the umbrella it's on the left side of the body, he is angry. When he's on the door, I feel the green eyes on me, mean full, upset, estressed, asking for explanations, for a full history, apologies if needed.

The perfect suit, the umbrella and the intensity, it was all I needed. Until that moment I couldn't feel anything, I had to ignore the attempt of kidnapping, the fear... But now he was right there and I could feel everything, anything, I didn't have to worry, he would take care of me.

I stand up and walk to him, larger steps I'm able to take, hugging him, hidding my face I'm his clothes, the smell of cigarette and perfume take me, calm me, he was tense, maybe even scared.

— I'm sorry, uncle Myke — I whisper, knowing that only him would hear it, and raise my head to look at his face. The worried eyes were scanning me, searching for negative marks, I hope he find none — The man who was going to take me — I speak louder, hopping that John helps me — was blonde, very tall and had scars on his face, cut scars, not burning, and had a lot of guns...

— She's just fine, Mycroft — John interrupt me, making the green eyes leave my face, the tin lips rise a little, thankful — When we get there, she was locked in the principal office, the man was going to sell her because Louise deduce he was having an affair — uncle Myke turn to me, wide eyes telling how many times we already talked about deductions at school — We left without trouble. She's a precious little girl.

— I know, Dr. Watson — his voice it's soft, the big hand on my back, holding me in his chest — Thank you for taking her out, I wasn't available — he seems guilty, but John would never notice — And where it's Sherlock?

Uncle Sherlock opens the glass doors in a urge, John clearly calls him a drama queen. He is dressed in pijamas and get rid of the lab equipments, his look to uncle Myke is full of meaning. I turn to him, scared of what he might say, still keep my back on uncle Myke's chest, his hand on my shoulder, holding tight.

— Mycroft — Sherlock sits in his chair and grab the violin, silently I ask to not play until we're out, I don't want uncle Myke to see how he affects me — You have to increase her security, take her out of that school, even if you change the principal, not good for her to stay.

— It was already made — his sarcastic voice sounds in his chest in a way I can feel it in my back — But not by me... Two shots on the head.

I let my eyes wide, I was already waiting for something like that, although the bile comes to my throat, he was with me last than few hours ago, alive. Nobody should die like that. The big hand goes through my hair, discreetly calming me down.

— I imagine his phone was taken — Sherlock relax on the chair putting his ear in the violin and start testing the sound, the first note was slightly wrong, but I keep it to me — How you pretend find out who wants her?

— I have my methods... — they stare at each other, a silent arguing, John observes them, confused, waiting. For a second I take the liberty of believing that Sherlock cares about me, but I know it's not quite true. I swallow hard, noticing, uncle Myke softly shakes my shoulders, marking his presence — Well, let's go, Louise. Dr. Watson. Dear brother...

His hand grabs mine, holding with more straight then usual and start pulling me to the door. After years living with him I know that means how stressed and worried he is, worried with me. My chest flood of guilt.

John gives me my backpack, smiling. He blinks with one eye to me, conspiring, I let a short smile scape and let my uncle take me away.

I want to say goodbye to them, but my voice hesitate for a second and I miss my chance, but it's fine, I don't know if I could bare the sadness if only John answered it.

We practically run out the building, his hand still firm on mine. He doesn't look at me, angry just like I say to John, we were going to have a fight. Well, fight wasn't exactly the term. He was going to talk, and talk, and talk, and I was going to patiently listen. I hold his hand harder. The secure touch keeps me calm, my only worry was hold myself to him and everything was going to be fine.

A black car stops beside us, the back door opening. Inside, with a beautiful and in a thigh black dress, was Anthea, blackberry in hands. I sit by her side and smile at her, she touches my hair, without saying a word asking me if everything was ok. I didn't know how to answer.

Normally we actually verbally talk banalities, I think she feels I need someone normal in my life, and uncle Mycroft seems to agree because he avoids the maximum role his eyes listing to us. But today that's not going to happen, my uncle is trying to make his lighter work, stressed, disposed to smoke with us in a closed car. Anything could make him furious in that moment, even a minimum noise.

I decide not test my theory and observe the cars on my window. He was going to spend the hole day without talking to me, only by orders and short frases, as I was some is his workers, and, when more calm, he would come for a talk. Probably about uncle Sherlock, about changing school, increasing my security. I let a sight go, life was going to be harder now on. But I could see John either way, I was a guess in there, for tea and talk, and uncle Sherly couldn't say no, neither could uncle Myke. Well... He could, by only if my securities could stop me, and I was too good sneaking out for that.

— Anthea, What did you find? — he finally manage to light the cigarette, hard rock expression.

— Nothing. Not price, no names, no upcoming revenge, suppostly, everything is quiet — he let go a dark cloud of smoke, thinking. They know what that means, and don't want to say it because of me, but I know. That was personal, organise and very calm, wasn't going to stop until complete it's objective. We didn't have how to find out anything unless who ever it was made a mistake. And that was very risky to me, too risky for uncle Myke.

— Double Louise's security and drop mine to half — he orders, leaving no space to question. I stare at him, letting my mouth fall. No. That's was his solution? He couldn't be the target. What if I lose him? The cold green eyes fall on mine, inflexible — Not even a word, young lady

— But, uncle Myke...

— Not. Even. A. Word. — he raises his finger close to my face — When we get home, you go straight to your room and stay there. I just want to see you at dinner. Do you understand? — I just stare at him, I want to question, fight for it, but it wasn't a good moment, a good place for it — Do. You. Understand. Me?

— Yes, sir, uncle.

The violoncello takes me out of the planet when I need. Since my mom died is the only less irritant way I have to cry. Uncle Myke like it too, music was his solution to communicate with me in our first year together. Me in the cello and he in his saxophone.

That time was made of sad songs, but when I talked to him for the first time, I was gifted with a happy solo. Mom used to say he was the most paradoxal man she knew. He was the controlled and cold government officer, the dark side of the British government, he could control wars, deaths even! But in the music he was the beautiful and chaotic jazz.

I smile, playing the iron, felling the vibration in my chest. The notes of that day were forever printed to my mind, weirdly in the cello their sounded sad, but that was ok, it reflected my mood.

The door opens without making any kind of sound, I only observe him, still playing, as he passes through the place, and sits on the bed, heavily sighting, observing my room. It wasn't a very healthy room for a 13 year old, but it fits me. Lots and lots of book about crime and murders, white walls with some posters of old rock bands, a closed too big for my limited number of clothes and my desk, probably never used, my place if study was actually in his office floor.

— Louise — I stop playing, looking at him — We have to talk and you know why — his expression is firm, eyebrows raised and firm eyes — First: what do we already talked about deductions at school?

— People won't like it, or understand it. It's better keep it to myself — I let my eyes fall, observing the carpet — But she already was with the suspect! I just confirmed — he cleans his throat loudly making me raise my eyes to his face, and rise and eyebrow sarcastically to me — But she puts me out of her class, it's like you always say: the masenger it's always guilty — I bound my head — I'm sorry, uncle Mycroft.

— Second: when you are in danger you call the police! Not every single uncle you have! — he gets exasperated, and a little red. I have to hide my smile the maximum I can — You know my influence and codes. You panicked and called Sherlock!

— I'm sorry, uncle Mycroft — I whisper, letting any sign of a smile fall, he was right, I should be rational, black and white, I should be more like him — I didn't knew if I was just being paranoid.

— The job of the Scotland yard its take care of you — I rise my head, wanting to desagree, but his finger silentting me — It's their duty! Specially because I don't even know what I would do for you — I just stare at the green and sincere eyes, he was scared. He hated not knowing — I could put the hole British national on risk for you... Well! And talking about risk!! You call your uncle Sherlock! How do you even manege to get his number? Now you right there, playing happy songs on a sad arrange, calling Dr. Watson John and thinking about Sherlock!! And him? He must be on his floor, devastated, thinking about you. Both of you are. You two don't have enough mental health for a meeting like that!

— Uncle Sherlock isn't thinking about me... — I touch the iron of the cello, Sherlock's pale face covered of blood showing in front of my eyes — I'm only a bad memory.

He takes my hands in a sight, it was basically bigger than my hole face, but, therefore the size, it was gentle and soft, always kind with me. I turn myself to his eyes, the big sad green eyes. He was handsome, in a way different of John and Sherlock, but yet beautiful, an sad and mature beautiful.

— You will never be a bad memory. To no one! — I want to desagree and give examples, but he pressed his finger in my lips — What happened it's a bad memory, for Sherlock and your grandparents, too hard for them. You are only the second victim of that night. You are not guilty, that was not you. Uncle Sherlock have hard memories, he is a very complex and hard man who doesn't always know how to deal with his feelings, that's why he does what he does with himself, and that's why is better you two be separate. He doesn't hate you, he never did. That man always adored you. How many times I'll have to say that?

Until it's true, I want to say, but I can't finding my voice. Hate that sensation, I can force myself to talk. I want to play the cello until my fingers bleed, scream while doing it. I've already done that. Uncle was so desperate that day, he only calmed down after the blood stoped. He holds my hands harder, it was uncle Myke, he always knew what I was thinking.

— Now come, you haven't eat all day — he puts me on my foots and guides me to the kitchen. My room it's on the second floor, right beside his room. The furniture make it obvious that he wasn't the kind of man who wanted a child living with him. Longs and darks corridors with art everywhere, hole rooms turned into libraries and his private movies place, even his kitchen was lonely, with no table or food... He was never expecting visits. When I think he didn't need to go through that a hard pain goes through my chest. In another live he would only be uncle Mycroft from London, too far away from me. Yes, I observe the tall and ginger man, still dressed with parts of his suit and caring his umbrella indoors. He was my bright side.

— What are you thinking about? — he opens the fridge even knowing it's empty, I pick up the phone and hand it to him, ignoring the question — We could try bake something... It's different...

— Dear uncle, having food it's parts of baking something — I put myself on his side, looking up to his face.

He bounds to put his eyes closed to mine. I know he rather not to buy anything because he doesn't want to eat. Before me, he barely eat anything for longs periods of time, but it was our deal, if he eat, I eat, and that compelled us to not starve. Caring for each other.

— I like living here, you know? With you — I kiss his front head and hug his neck. His muscles relax slightly, his surprise getting evident — Don't ever leave me, uncle Myke... Let's ask pizza! It's different!

I step away, looking for the greens, searching in his face something, parts of me want to know if he really wanted me there. His kind expression makes me warm, while his own search eyes go through my face.

— I... — the rest of the grade seem to stop on his throat, he was as silly as mom used to say, I let myself open a smile — I'm also very satisfied of having you with me. — that's it. The best he could do. It was enough, I knew him.— have pizza! Cheese.

— Chicken! — I try to steal the phone back, but he was simply too tall for me — Uncle Mycroft!


	5. Military security

Not even uncle Myke's political influence could keep me in a school for more than 2 years, and that was only once, what end up in a murder. I've already had been in three traditional London schools and it never end up well.

I believe my uncle's initial idea was putting me in a boarding school, were he doesn't needed to educate me or bare my presence, but in my first year with him, when I couldn't say a word, that wasn't an option. So we had to live together, grown a relationship, until the moment he couldn't send me away anymore. I couldn't be more grateful for that, not just because boarding schools are a nightmare, but because I wouldn't survive without our relationship.

Now he needed a new technique to keep me actually studying without killing someone else. Unfortunately, the solution was a military school and it's bloody uniform. It makes sense I guess, he was closed to the higher levels of the British army, and practically controls the tactic institution, I would be save and people would knew that treat me wrong was the same as treat the Mycroft Holmes wrong.

But I was nervous.

By experience, I know how every normal human devolve some kind of angry for me. And it wasn't because of my intelligence, how uncle used to say, or because I'm "different" as Anthea thought. I was born to be hated, people hate me since the beginning, sometimes it get worse as time passes or it just happen right away. It happened with my father, with uncle Sherlock, my grandparents, any colleges or teachers, even I hated myself.

The only two people who never hated me were uncle Myke and Anthea, but I don't count her because we barely see each other for real. My only fear was losing uncle Myke to that too.

I put on the red quepe and hate every part of what it's in the mirror. I was too short for my age, too skinny for my age, and too pale for any normal human being. My face is tin with well defined cheekbones, just like uncle Sherlock, but it was just weird on me, maybe if my hair was longer, with bigger curves like his, it wouldn't be so ugly. The blue eyes outed on the pale skin, but they weren't clever as uncle Sherlock's, maybe the same color, although not the same beauty. I wonder why they don't have the same nice shine as my mother's.

The blue clothes makes me hate that situation more and more. It let me more pale, the skirt is to short, the socks are too high, and I'm horrible putting the tie. I was looking like a star of a pedophile porn movie.

— Ready? — uncle Myke watches me from the door, the three pieces suit fits him perfectly, beautiful — You can't be late, you need to have discipline in this school, just like we agreed.

— I know, uncle Myke — he bounds behind me, putting his arms around my shoulders, straighting the tie, gentle. I let my head fall in this shoulder and feel an urge of hug him. — How long do you think I'll last there?

— It's going to be different now, Louise — I search for his eyes on the mirror — You will behave just like we agreed, will play in the school band, follow the rules and always be near a known official. Soon you'll be in Oxford, trust me.

I want to say I'm not like him, who was called to college 5 years early, I'm not smart enough, neither had an perfect historic record. But I just smile shortly and take my backpack. I don't feel ready for this.

— Well, well, I was waiting for a younger lady! — the man in front of me is smiling, the dark eyes almost fading away — Mycroft you almost have an woman in you house.

Uncle's reaction makes me stop my laugh, the man would never notice, but the cold face of the British officer got colder when he said that. I guess the idea of me growing up wasn't his favourite. I observe him a bit, but turn my face to the man to keep it straight.

The general is very skinny and as tall as uncle, all his uniform is in perfect position, every medal is in perfect organisation. He seems to always be in a "ready to receive orders" position, I wonder if my uncle is his superior or if he is like that all the time. The fact is, he was very focused on being a man from the army, or he was just to traumatized to keep things out of place, maybe ocd was the problem. By his age I can try to guess in witch war he fought, none worthy of course, any war is truly worthy.

I turn my look to the floor, hating myself, how, in a military school, I could be thinking that way? Why I were analyzing the man? I had to behave, as uncle said.

The building was huge and it was in lots of shades of white and grey, just like a tombstone. I notice the statues and well cuted plants, but don't allow myself to observe with more attention. I needed to focus, actually pay attention on what uncle Myke and the general were talking about.

— Yes... — uncle Mycroft turns to me, observing my face carefully — She's already a big lady... May we talk about her historic in your office?

We follow the man inside, I resist the impulse to hold my uncle's hand, and just focus on behaving. The corridors were old, with dead plants all over the place and boring paintings on the walls. The floor was wooden and cracky in a weird shade of red, I could almost imagine people being murder in that red, their blood would disappear into de wood...

I swallow hard. It was the most cold and sinister school I've ever got in. I imagine the people, were they cold and sinister too? The general was. His calm and tense walk isn't even the most passive aggressive thing in his whole being. He's a granade, can explode in any step. How were the other teachers?

General Needham's office is on the first floor, it's big, with lots of books and some pictures. His wooden desk is very beautiful and full of papers, there's nothing personal in it, no family pictures, the whole room was about the army and that's it. I shake my head and stop staring at things, I can't deduce him, if I don't, I won't have wrong things to talk about and I will not put myself into trouble.

— I was surprised when you called me, Mycroft — he sits behind the desk, waiting for my uncle to sit first. On my lack of attention, I just follow them after a few seconds, but I'm happy about it, maybe it looks like respect in his view, maybe he takes longer to hate me — Specially in the meddle of the year. Don't you think miss Holmes will be affected? Miss her friends?

What friends? I contain a sarcastic laughter.

— Louise is, in fact, looking for friends — uncle smiles sweetly, putting the hand on top of my head. In a profound effort, I hold my ironical eyebrow and simply stare ate him, trying to keep a straight face. Liar! — Her last school wasn't providing the companies I want for her.

I want to say there were rich people in my old school, and the problem was with me and the hate I bring to myself. I want to say that I don't like the richy annoying kid too, and that I have no interest on getting involve with them. I want to say that rich kids have a tendency to be cruel and arrogant, and I couldn't bare their presence and their illusions of superiority. I want to say I don't have my uncle's political talents of ignoring things I consider wrong, and that my mom was exactly the same as me.

But I decide to shut my mouth and force a smile.

— I understand perfectly your concern, Mycroft, here she will find friends way more equivalent with who she is — once more I make an effort to keep my face peaceful. Who I am exactly? The problematic orphan niece of the British government? — And how is she at school? Good grades?

— They could be better — he stare at me sharply and I wonder why I still love him, he was officially asking for a punch or two. My grades were the only great things about me, the least thing he couldn't be disappointed about it. — But still the best of her last class.

— Very exigent — he turns to me, his eyes make me uncomfortable, something about militaries unwell me — We are very exigent too, Louise, just like your uncle. You have to show some effort and be one of the best if you don't want to receive an special attention from me — that words would hardly sound unharmful, but in his voice sounded even worst. What was his kind of special attention? I hold my impulse to search the answer in uncle's eyes, normally they say exactly what I need to hear, but I choose not to move — But, if you want an good kind of attention, advantages... You will be one of our best. Have you ever thought about the military carrier?

I sit straight on the chair and I feel uncle Myke apprehensive beside me, hands crossed on the lap, to the rest of the planet he was keeping the cold and contained face, but I know him, he was waiting my answer.

— No, sir — both man react negatively, very discreetly, my fingers shake on my lap, but I hold them strong and don't shut my mouth — A soldier must be in total control of his emotions, do the right decisions, count casualties as if weren't human lives, stay calm. I'm not such an good person, sir.

He agrees, shaking the head with a pensative expression, approving my answer, I allow myself a small smile. Uncle Mycroft gives me my favorite proud face. So far nobody was angry, my new personal record.

— Maybe we can modify that, young lady — he smiles to uncle, conspiring, and receive a fake smile in exchange. Changing me wasn't one of his objectives — But now is not the moment to discuss that. The young lady should already be in class. Come with me, huh?

We stand up, and I can barely feel my legs. My uncle whispers instructions in my ear, but I can't focus on the words, my only wish is to wrap my arms around him and don't let go, I know is childish, want to have someone holding my hand while I'm obligated to meet new people, specially when I don't deserve this kind of care

Silently, I follow to man through a wooden stair, his heavy steps making my heart freeze. Anticipation is the best trick on a torture section, I hear that "by luck" when I "walked by" my uncle's door during one of his meetings. And I knew it was right. All of that was going to be such a torture to me, get to know people I knew were going to hate me, that would probably be cruel, but the worst part was the the calm walk to my destiny. I didn't knew how would be, who or why, and, without following the steps, my imagination was running free.

— Nervous? — Needham asks in a low voice, smile getting to his eyes, I realised his face is full of small scars, I wonder how they get there. He is trying to be kind, I know, but my hands shakes hardly with it — I know you are nervous. It's scary as hell to meet new people, but relax, okay? Nobody is hurting you here.

Even making some effort, I can't force a smile. If my mouth opens, maybe I can't close it, screaming in fear, or maybe doesn't let a sound go. My heart goes against my ribs with the idea of never speaking again.

He knocks hard in the big door, while I try to keep my legs from running the other way. The class room was all made on wood, dust and old particles of time. All the students stand when see the general, who makes them sit again with a wave of the head. I can't let go the idea of dogs. Just like animal farm and the pig Napoleon

The teacher is young and short, with dark and well cut hair, he has a nice expression, joviality was all over him, with a sweet smile, making dimples on his cheeks, friendly looking at me. Handsome and confident.

— Our brand new student — his voice is excited, while he places his hands together. His clothes are simple and look old, in his neck and very purple stone shine. That was the last person I expected to see in a military facility. I loved him — I left a chair spared just for you, miss — he points the very first chair in the middle of the class, and opens an sarcastic smile to the general — As you requested, sir.

They stare at each other, hostility almost burning the air between them. The students share smiles, that conflict wasn't new. While I watch them a realisation hits me: they were all the same. Girls with long hair in a behave ponytail, light make up and arrogance all over their faces. The boys shared the short hairstyle, all brushed to the same side. All of them with this weird angry and cold expressions, superiors. I was completely out of shape, more then normally.

— Well, class — Needhan turns to the kids, forcing a more calm face — Miss Holmes is you new sister — my eyes get wider facing the floor and the teacher hides a smile in his hand, clearly marking some effort to keep it together — You will share you space, your life and your learnings with her. You will grow up together, that mean you are equal. And, as equal, you'll be treated the same. Understood?

— Sir, yes, sir — they all answer in one voice and and will to cry comes to my chest. They were... Equal. Trained copies. It wasn't the place for my music, for my deductions or intelligence. It wasn't a place for me.

I sit after he's gone, worrying about keep my eyes on the teacher always, he smiles sweetly and stops in front of me with the arms crossed in the chest, nail painted in a transparent shine, hair well putted to look messed. Gay or metrossexual?

— My name is Ian Pasteur. Do you enjoy chemistry, miss Holmes? — his voices goes through my name in a calm satisfaction, like a conquer.

— Yes, sir — I let my eyes analyse the equations on the board. Thankfully I recognize some.

— Good... — he follows my eyes, twitching his skinny body, as heavy as a feather, I feel he is going to test me and that calms my heart, finally I'm on my comfort zone — You are Mycroft Holmes's niece, right? — his eyes come to mine, dark and profound eyes, his smile wasn't reaching them. My rise my eyebrows, what should I answer? He doesn't permit me to, shaking his head. I notice a small talk behind me, they've recognised the name. What kind of children knew my uncle? What kind of place was that? — Yes... You really look like Theres, you know? — he ignores my wide eyes trying to understand. He was far too younger than my uncle, didn't look like someone of my family would keep a relationship. He knew my mother — Miss Holmes... — a small laugh goes through my name as he say it — Tell your colleagues witch is the kind of reaction you have on the board.


	6. Minor Workers of the govement

I finish my copies right after the end of class bell. Nobody moves, what means that our class room was the same for all teachers. I don't dare looking back, no fast moves, not attracting attention was the main objective there.

\- Miss Holmes? - the teacher calls me while puts his papers on a side purse. How that man could be in that place? He was the last military man I've already knew - Come with me, hum?

I stand up to obey, noticing how short he is, way taller than me, of course, I was a tinny kid, but he was smaller than average, what made him more adorable, at least for me, who was used to giants. Uncle Myke was a titan himself.

I don't look to my colleagues while wait for him. Part of me don't know if following him to the corridor is a good idea. He could be a killer, some psicotic criminal hired against uncle Myke, but I don't let that thought go, I couldn't let the paranoia take control.

Standing on the corridor is a man who I assume is the next teacher. He doesn't say anything, just pass through us, calmly, impeccable uniform, grey hair cut very short and face full of wrinkles, but the backs as straight as they were in the first world war, probably. He waves at Pasteur and enters the classroom. I imagine that's my permission to stay out a bit.

\- You have a lot of talent - he keeps the same sweet smile as before, as he knew more than me of something, some dark secret. The idea that maybe he doesn't get affected by the morbid around him because he is morbid too, strikes me -, not just with chemistry, I believe. Well, we have a program here, to help keep talents as yourself focus on studying, usually turned to competition. It works like a support group on the afternoon - he puts his hands on the pockets, and shrugged, with a "it's actually silly" face - I want you in - my eyes got wider, any teacher, never, had ever donne something like that. Last time someone tried to putt me in an advanced class the math teacher felt threaten by my methods - We have to mark the day of the week and the hour... And, no, you can't deny it - he opens a pretty and sarcastic smile - Military school, you know?

\- I understand, teacher - I open a smile - I wasn't going to deny, it's actually very exciting - my hands shake while the right words don't come, if the wrong ones come out he might hate me faster - My week is, in fact, very easy. All my days are free except Thursdays and Thursdays. And I have to let my uncle know, define everything exactly.

\- Of course - his laughter makes him throw his head behind, letting go a sight - Mycroft Holmes and his amazing control issues he is never going to change - the shine on his eyes is unsettling, is, at the same time, angry and happy, full of something alike sorrow, but dusty... How does he knew my uncle? - Well, I'm waiting for our answer tomorrow, today you have to get used to the school. And, Louise? - his face turns kindly sad, admiring my face - I am very pleased to meet you.

\- Thank you, sir - and turn to the door, unable to keep my hands from shaking. I don't know what to think, what to feel about him.

\- Oh, god, Louise - his disappointed voice makes my heart fall and I need all the straight in my body to look back at him. The strange man still was with his hands on the pockets, but straighten back, military pose, the only military thing on him. Big white smile on the pretty face - Don't call me sir, it gives me the shivers - the smile gets wider and, strangely, I fell my on face smiling too, almost without wanting it.

When I sit to copy more disciplines, my mind start to wonder. What was that place? Children who knew too much about the British government, teacher who knew too much about my family... Uncle Myke probably wasn't telling me something.

The teacher was a cold and full of medals colonel, and, like Pasteur, he tested me, but, even if with right answers, he doesn't called me outside after class. Strangely, he seemed to give special attention to a group of students, calling them by their batism name and smiling proudly everytime they gave a right answer. Maybe his advanced group.

In the next class the same happened, the sweet and calm history teacher test me, but, after my correct answers, she just makes a lovely face and turns her attention was on her on group of favorites.

Apparently I could only belong to one group. I resist the idea of turning back and look to my colleagues, wondering who were the other of my group. Such an odd school, segregating students like that.

On the break, all the students stand up and start leave. As I don't know anyone and hunger wasn't a problem to me, my solution to spend time is solving chemistry problems. Soon enough I was alone in the silence, if all day were like that, I would be very pleased, nobody coursing me or being cruel, no opportunities for me to answer with more cruelties and no teacher would hate on me because of it. Uncle Myke would be proud of me and John would only hear good stories in our meetings.

\- Kids, this is Louise, your new friend - I rise my head wondering if my celebration was too early. Ian is standing at the door surrounded by four girls and one boy, staring at me - And I think she is studying! On the break! - he lets his head fall to the side and start walking to me. I can easily compare him to a bird or some kind of reptile who found something looking like food. The ideia makes my hands shake, being observed by a crow wasn't the funniest thing.

\- She is... - he run his eyes through my notebook, the dark and gentle eyes unsettle me, they had something cold on then, emotionless. I turn my look to the group behind him.

The boy was very skinny and tall, with a dark hair and eyes, vey asian like, but some European traces. His hands were put on the shoulders of the two girls in front of him. They were twin's with a very beautiful curly and high, with freckles on the dark skin and light-green eyes, as skinny as they're friend, but way shorter. The other two girls were so alike that they could be sisters too, same hair, same role of glasses, same height, even the same way of standing. Part of me sounded the "enemy attack" signal, they fitted my pattern of cruel and rich girls.

Over the years I gattered enough material to deduce they're whole life. Informations pop in front of me, an unhappy life, problematic rich family, cruelty being used as a way to feel better... I stop, not just because I promise not to deduce in school anymore, but because that informations only applied to one of them, the one with green eyes. They're lider.

\- My name is Sabrina Bons - she walks towards me, smiling and holds my hand. Her perfectly painted red nails matching the glasses and the garter-tie. She had the the soft skin of someone who had never done anything rough in life, but I smile, trying to push away the stereotype and hating me for thinking this way. Perhaps she was even nice! - These are James Black, Katharine and Suzan Dickson and Alice Tennant.

\- Louise Holmes - I shake her hand, ignoring their smiles broadening while they recognise my name, that was not even possible. - I am very pleased to meet you.

Ian has a satisfied and nasty smile, beautiful, of course, but a little scary, I wonder what he is planning.

\- You are all going to be friends, I'm sure - the pulls on of the chairs and sits besides me, and the kids follow him - How about knowing each other better? James, why don't you tell a little about yourself?

\- Yes, Ian - he turns the dark eyes to me and smile - I'm very pleased to meet you, Louise - My father is a minor worker in a middling British bank - he opens a sweet smile and let his head fall a little to the side, as if asking if I understood. I let the corner of my mouth rise handling my head, confirming - I've always studied here, and some day I'm going to be a great journalist.

\- I am sure you are going to be a great pianist too - the words scape before I notice and part of me want to disapear right there. No deducing on school, Louise! But none of them have a negative reaction, in fact they look astonished, in a good way. My body relax, and I almost allow myself to be hopeful, maybe they were not going to hate me!

Ian observes, calculating, our interaction, for a moment I stop to notice his face when he is serious, the sparse beard makes him a little older, and, behind the coolness that shone in his eyes, I see a certain gentle glow, loving. He was weird, definitely weird.

I take my eyes off him and focus on Sabrina. We stare at each other for a fraction of a second and feel that if she had that power, I would be fulminated on the floor. But why? Instead of letting my eyes on her to deduce, what would probably put me in trouble, I turn my eyes and focus on the twins, who smile at me, the green eyes are gentle and the freckles make their smiles lovely.

\- Our mother occupy an unimportant role on the Prime Minister's security - they speak in unison, the voice are like little bells ringing with laughter. They look like two fairies, and I like them immediately - We don't play and musicals instruments.

\- But I'm a black belt in judo - the one on the right makes a small bow, smiling.

\- And me in krav maga - complete the left one, smiling, and it raises the head, jokeful.

\- We are going to be diplomats one day - they say together, broad smiles. I notice a proud look from James on them, an attentive admiration. I look away again, preventing myself from deducting more.

\- Of course you will! - I smile at them, letting it get to my eyes, that might mean I like them. I don't know if this is good, maybe for them it is, if I was a good company, but surely for me it was not. When they hated me, what would happen soon, I was just going to regret - Where do you plan to work?

James restrain his laughter as Sabrina rolled her eyes, and Alice shook her head, rebuking me. I wonder if that was my first mistake. The twin in the left says animatedly: Brazil. And the other almost shouts: India.

I rolled my eyes on the faces around me, Ian watches his own nails, trying not to pay attention to the situation, probably didn't want to get involved in that situation, and once again I go back to them. They both stare at each other for a few seconds, serious, then they turn to me, cold, determined stares, my heart shakes a little, maybe it really was the wrong question.

\- We are still deciding - they smile shortly to me, with I reflect, a little unsettled.

\- We are still going to hear a lot of fights until then - Sabrina tosses her beautiful hair back and looks botherd, her snub nose makes my stomach twist - you'll get used to it, sweetie - She smiles, engaging, and stretches herself over the table to grab my hand. I force a smile, but noticing the reactions around me and I feel like I'm falling into a trap.

The twins hold expressions of disgust, and disguise it gently, smiling to Sabrina. The only one who keeps a closed and natural expression is Ian, this time his eyes are on me, heavy and full of meanings, I realize that he expects something from me, a will to deduce everything around me almost overwhelms my control, but I only look at Alice.

\- My grandfather occupy a silly place of no importance on a noble household - she speaks fast and I realize how she does look at me in the eyes while speaking, her hands shaking on anxiety - I want to be an engineer, studying in Spain - she rise her profundly dark eyes to me and smile. Strangely I feel my lips following her, I'm certain she should smile more, it's beautiful - Did you know that some seaweed produces electricity? If I can understand their composition and how they do it, we can have clean and unlimited energy - her excitement make my smile wider, and I realize her hands aren't shaking anymore.

\- That's amazing! - I hear myself saying.

She smiles and looks back at any place other than my eyes, the others have a sweet smile, I feel some gratitude in them, but I do not know what that might mean.

Sabrina forces a smile and leans in my direction, allowing the glasses to slip to the tip of her nose. I stare into her eyes, allowing a slight fear grown invade my mind.

\- My mother occupies a small seat in the British army, and my father an unimportant position in parliament - She let go a smug smile when realise my raised eyebrows. That was probably the highest post among them, maybe inside the room, well, not as high as Mycroft Holmes... - I will pursue my father's political career, you know? He told me about you. He said that your uncle is Mycroft Holmes, everyone in this room knows well who he is - She opens a beautiful smile that does not reach her eyes, I let my coldest expression show, how did they know? - We're going to get along just fine, aren't we?


	7. little step towards happiness

That was probably the most fun scholar day of my life. For the first time, being with other humans doesn't meant to hear bad words and rude questions. We just talked, about movies, dreams and songs, things I normally don't talk about because of the lack of opportunity to do it. The lack of people who cares. And we laugh, I normally never do that, it's not one of my talents, really, but those kids manage to bring up my best laughter, and, I allow me to believe, they're laugh were real to, they were also happy to be with me.

Those four people had no problem hearing about my passion over Shakespeare or which songs I like to play in my cello. They didn't asked me why I was living with my uncle, or what happened with my parents, even though, they talked about they're family, and it was comfortable, I didn't made any effort in pretending to be really interested so they would like me, in fact I was really curious to know more about they're families.

An warm and sweet felling was growing in my chest, maybe all the fun on the situation, maybe the safety of being myself.

The last funny part of it was Sabrina, she chose not to talk about anything we were talking, and everything that come out of her mouth was rude, full of dispair with our tastes and our dreams, Almost as if the idea of us having them offended her. I know she wants attention and does not like to think they're happy enough to not give it to her. It was, somehow sad, but part of me was simply getting angry.

The last straw was when she said something about how humiliating it would be for James's parents to have a journalist in the family. The boy withered immediately, I realize that she touched a delicate spot for him, with the only intention of being cruel. The twins react almost aggressively, but quickly control themselves and I realize that each one holds an exposed skin part of James, but I just ignore my deductions about that.

— Oh, Sabrina, he doesn't have to worry about that — I smile using my most diplomatic voice tone — James knows well how to deal with politics, I believe. He surely will be the director of a giant and important newspaper — I force a laugh, even though the act sinks my heart into the ribs — We're going to have to be careful with him so he does not destroy our careers, right?

It disarms her, leaving her with a silly expression, then she smiles, politely, turning her attention to other, surely way more important than us, thing on the floor. This makes James face me, hopeful, grateful. The twins smile at me, ignoring Sabrina's reaction, they're over protective side towards James showing, shameless.

I chose to ignore certain thoughts of power shift that pop up in the back of my head, probably coming from a sequence of deductions I could not hold, but that was an absurd thought,and I was going crazy. Sabrina could be manipulative, but she did not "dominate" anyone. She was 13 years old, that was definitely absurd.

I continue the conversation, ignoring her moodiness. So, the old feeling of naturality comes to me, the realisation that I feel comfortable talking to them, without the incessant search for correct answers, the right thing to say, the struggle to not be hat. It was almost as if I had friends. I convince myself to take advantage of that illusion, it was not always that I could feel welcomed, and, regard of the murder caused by me, my behaviour were fine, convincing my mind I have the right to enjoy, I relax.

— Louise — a little voice calls me when I'm putting my books on my backpack. Alice was right in front of me and, for a moment, I don't know how to hold a book anymore and almost let it fall on her. I. Am. The. Worst. — Sorry if I scared you.

— No! — it comes out too loud, so I try to keep it together — No. I mean, you didn't scared me...

— Good — she gives me a small smile and an urge to rise my hand and use my finger to touch her lip comes to me. What was even going on? She was really pretty smiling, and she should smile all the time, but I have never be so stupid close to someone — I was wondering if I could go along down stairs with you.

— Sure! — I put my backpack on the shoulder and force my lips to rise a little.

— You haven't talked a lot about yourself today — while we walk slowly through the corridor, I realize her hands are shaking and I have to resist the will to hold it. Maybe she was like me, maybe she was looking for the right thing to say... I wonder if I should go straight to the subject, telling her she could relax with me, or if I should let her know with my behaviour. With my shyness and lack of confidence, I decided for the second opinion — Ian thought about your mother earlier... How she is?

In my imagination, that kind of question would open a hole through my chest, and broke me in pieces so hard I wouldn't be able to hide or answer anything, I wouldn't manage to speak. But, although it really hurt imensily, I felt safe enough to actually to think about the answer:

— Dead — it comes out to fast. Her face turns incredibly pale for a second and then bright red, mouth beginning to forme what would be a million apologies. It wasn't a good decision if you want to make someone comfort — I mean.. she died a few years ago — I shake my head, not letting she start apologizing — She was murdered — the red of the floor, combined with the red of my memories makes a shiver go down my spine — I live with my uncle Mycroft now. I believe, I don't even not how, that you know who he is.

— Oh, yes, everyone knows who he is — her rise of eyebrows seems to take away my questions leaving me with a new urge of touching her — I believe I've even already meet him...

— Louise! — before I could ask her more, Ian comes running through the corridor, body beautifully built, big smile, waving his hand to me — May I talk with you a little?

— Sure, teacher! — before I say goodbye to her, Alice kisses my cheek and simply leave, going down stairs. My head turns a little, my hole attention goes to the one place she touched, and I want to put my hand on that spot, maybe I could still feel her lips there. Ian observes us and I'm sure that was the most nastiest face of his day — What do you need, mister?

Later, while I left the building, with Ian at my side, talking about classes on Monday afternoon and about the Olympics he was signing up to even before my uncle's authorization, I feel good, I'm even smiling, without having a real reason.

As if the universe was trying to improve my mood even more, I notice the black car parked on the curb. Uncle Myke is leaning against the door, eyes on the floor, concentrate on something, umbrella leaning on the car at his side and arms folded across his chest. It comes to be a comic scene, the personification of the British government it self waiting for me at the door of the school. I step forward in him and wrap my arms on his heist, his muscles contract lightly when he feels me, but soon recovers and rests his big hand on the top of my head.

— Mycroft — I hear Ian's voice, feeling some provocation in it, but I do not turn to him, just raise my head to Uncle Myke, his face is pale and looks surprised. I can even see the beginning of a short ginger beard of his cheeks — Long time, no see — they shake hands, my uncle is speechless situations like these are rare, and here was my strange teacher making him silent — I teach chemistry to Louise, she's a very impressive child — I turn to the teacher and he is smiling, but sad, dark and still mysterious eyes, a series of theories cross my mind — She looks a lot like her mother, you know? And with Sherlock.

My uncle neither affirms nor denies, just observes, almost as if trying to understand the situation, connecting pieces in his brilliant mind. Still holding the smaller man's hand, as they stare at each other, I perceive a certain familiarity in the way they stopped, at the shoulder angle, I resisted the urge to ask where they meet and why they mirror each other.

— Well, I'm going back inside — he puts the hand on his pocket after letting my uncle go, eyes on the still surprised green — See you, young lady.

In the car, my uncle is silent, looking at the window, hand on the chin. I like this position, if my hability with a pencil wasn't so terrible, that would be my favorite position of him to draw. He looked like and old lord from and far and dangerous place, the lord who could control anything and anyone.

— Don't even think about making any questions about your chemistry teacher — he whispers, not even turning to me. Sincerely, I was burning inside with curiosity, and that frase probably brought a noise full of frustration of my mouth.

A side smile comes to his face and his eyes bright a little, that gesture makes my curiosity disappear, at least for the moment. Moving closer to him, I put my head on his arm, wanting to be on his lap.

— How was your day? — his hand is light in my hair, touching the curly parts — Needhan took care of you?

— Oh, actually yes — I allow a smile to my lips — I meet new people, and it wasn't bad, for the first time! I talked a lot today, and wasn't even painful or hard, and this other children, they listened to me, and they cared about what I was saying. Uncle, I didn't even hesitate on saying my mind!

I look up, excited, and the powerful green was on me, full of kindness and the unquestionable love I know he feel. He is proud, I can say, and happy for me, Mycroft might no know how to express, but we both know how important we and our happiness are to each other. My chest is full of profound piece and joy, happiness I guess. Maybe life wasn't so bad.


	8. Tea with the soldier

Someone knocks on the door shyly and the three men look at it. The very tall and pale man with curly hair, sitted with his legs against his chest, Sherlock Holmes, just ignores it, shaking his head, annoyed, and asks inspector Lestrade, an, even being, older, with grey hair, who seemed to be way relaxed man, to continue talking about the case. John Watson, the soldier, knew exactly who was at the door, gets up and goes walks towards it, ignoring his colleague's bored voice saying to just ignore.

John is a bit nervous, he's been this way all day, luckily, Sherlock was not good with emotions and had not noticed, more important things to him on his mind. He feels bad about using that little girl that way, barely knowing how Sherlock would react. He had been extremely cold with the niece last time, she even truly believed her uncle hated her, but John knew his mate, he cared, deep down he cared about her.

The soldier has saw that on his face when the man pic up the phone on the day she was in danger. Knowing Sherlock for so long, he could almost seeing the pieces of a terrible and scary situation being put together in the brilliant mind. And that, as John recognises on his face, brutally unsettled him.

And that attitude led John to drastic measures, not that he didn't liked girl, he liked it, she was sweet and lovable, although very insecure and sort of scared, very similar to a stray cat, wanting deeply someone's attention on a street side. Just like Sherlock sometimes, really, but that was not the point. He was going to find out why Sherlock was acting like that with the girl, and John was going to sort it out. Sherlock willing or not.

He opens the door, smiling to the kid, and realizes that Louise was shaking head to toe and seemed to be hyperventilating. She look at him, right in the eyes, and for a second the doctor feels completely open and exposed. That little girl could see all his sins, his mistakes and sorrows. The same Sherlock blues, as sweet and sincere as the original, and so invasive ... He knew those eyes very much.

— Doctor Watson, please, forgive me, I simply can't come in! — she speaks fast, while step a little farther, with and forced sweet smile — I don't believe is appropriate, uncle Sherlock won't be satisfied and uncle Myke told me not to come here.

— The tea is ready — John holds her shoulder and gently pull her inside. The conversation in the room stopped, Sherlock's head is low, silent, hands together and fingers on the mouth, the blue eyes focus on a fixed point on the floor, perhaps thinking, but Gregory Lestrade was not looking expectant, he wasn't waiting for a deduction, the inspector looked surprised — Greg, this is Louise, she is Sherlock's niece.

Sherlock made no move to indicate that he was going to speak to the girl, but he did not return to the matter with the inspector either. The man seemed profundly unsettled with the situation, probably, John imagine, trying to see a sense in what's happening.

Gregory stands up, smiling, ready to shake the girl's hand. The good part of having the DI closed by is the part that everything to him is just fine.

— Are you daughter of the guy with the umbrella? You don't look like him, I'm fact... — his eyes go through the room, finding assemblies — You look just like Sherlock... — John notice sort of a confusion on her eyes, she truly couldn't see they're assembly — My name is Gregory Lestrade, it's a pleasure.

She share a sweet smile, and Greg conquer her love easily. John expected a completely different child, someone raised by the British government it self should, at least be a little paranoid. Or maybe it was exactly the opposite, the girl could trusted her uncle's power deeply enough to be fearless. The soldier doesn't know which one was worst.

— Very nice to meet you, sir. I just live with my uncle Mycroft, detective inspector, I'm not his daughter— the idea amuse her, John can see, the sweet smile of someone who could almost see a different life with that little detail changed — How do you know my uncle?

— Because your uncle Mycroft kidnapped him when I start working with the police — Sherlock jumps on his foot in an urge, obviously annoyed and John notice how she back off, shaking more, trying to hide some fear. Both older man catch the moviment and both wonder why she would fear her uncle — John, I want talk with you in private. Kitchen. Now.

He barely lets the soldier argument against and grabs him by the arm pulling the smaller. John, while permit himself being pulled, still does not quite understand the reaction the girl had, because he would be afraid of Sherlock, even if he always acted cold with her, he would never hurt her, it is not something Sherlock does. He stares at the tall man in front of him, silent questions Sherlock simply ignores.

— We don't want her here, Mycroft and me! — the taller whispers, the deep voice going rough against the throat. The blue eyes, the same as the girl on the living room, were truly angry at him — This is not good for her! — the pale face shifts into what could be described as a shadowy expression, a expression of on who remembers a not pleasent past — Nor is for me...

— I'm sorry Sherlock, but I didn't invite her because of you — he whispers back, approching they're faces, que could see every little detail of the well draw mouth — She is obviously lonely and fragile, she needs a friend, and it's pretty clear to me how she adores you, and I believe she might like me! I would let her lonely like this. And I can't even believe you will.

— John, you don't know half... — Then they hear it, a bell-like sound, something almost out of a fable, the sweet and sincere laugh comes from the girl talking to Greg. The two men just stared at each other at the sound, not making a sound until it was over.

John just watches Sherlock, not controlling the corner smile, until that moment she had not laughed close to them, just sweet smiles, but no sound. It was a beautiful thing to hear, full of innocence, and completely sincere. Sherlock, too, glares at him, deeply, but does not seem satisfied, his ivory pale face twitching in an almost pained expression. The private detective shakes the head strongly and rush to the door, violently pulling the coat of a chair, and closing the door in a noise, no words. The three others just stand, listening his hard steps on the wooden stair.

John is about to comment on how he is a great drama queen, when he notices her head bowed, big blue eyes on the floor, fixed on the tin dust in front of her, as if guessing that reaction was her fault. John wants to say that she isn't guilty, he wants to blame Sherlock, and help her to be strong, but he can't say that, not after the expression of soffering he saw on his friend face. So he puts his hand on the girl's shoulder and smiles, silent.

— Sherlock was acting awkward — Lestrade gets up, smiling lovely to Louise — You uncle is so weird... Well, always, but today...

— Really? — She seems interested, voice slightly distant, but she does not smile, the doctor recognizes a sadness in her, the deep blue eyes were a little less bright there, maybe thinking horrible things about herself, he had to act fast, the possibility of she doesn't wanting to come back shouldn't exist. John walks into the kitchen to get her tea, the funny part was how much she cares about her uncle, even Sherlock such a scandal over her.

— Well, he is always weird, also always interested in the case, but today he suddenly was distracted, not interested — the inspector shake his head, wondering, putting his hands on his pocket. John knew the man wasn't stupid, Gregory realise immediately how Sherlock was bothered by the child's presence, and was just trying to take the suspect out of her head. He was a good man — Humpf, it was my pleasure, Louise, I better head going, my crime scene is waiting for me, and, what it seems, a very weird private detective.

— I might believe it's always like this, sir. I was very pleased to meet you. I will say hi to my uncle for you — John enters the room just to see the inspector smile, lightly flushed and extremely embarrassed, and leave. Louise has a strange expression of satisfaction, watching him, John believes it is the first time she makes such a happy expression inside the apartment.

— "Hi to uncle Mycroft"? I don't really believe your uncle puts a lot of importance on Gregory even existence — She tilts her head to the side staring at him, wondering, looks like a puppy who knows too much — Or he does?

— My uncle is not an... Ordinary man — She responds, very seriously, choosing the words carefully, biting the corner of her lip, holding back a certain smile. John can see how she is alike Sherlock, putting things together, having fun with it — He shows a lot without realising it, when I moved to his house I didn't notice the little things and all I saw was the Ice Man, but as time goes and he ends up showing himself — She looks at the door — Inspector Lestrade, although, is very open, even with what he does not know yet. He did not notice, or think he noticed other than what it is, and my uncle noticed, but he wanted to forget. They are strange men.

She smiles sweetly and picks up one of the cups with her both hands, delicate. John does not understand what she means, and thinks that Louise notices, noticing her extended sweet smile. He shakes his head, the girl was not going to make herself clear, but okay, that was none of his business, anyway. Probably involved something from MI6.

John tells her to sit on Sherlock's chair. It's funny how small she is for the armchair, in fact, it could hold easily two of her with a lot of comfort. Stopping to think about it, he realise she is small for 13 years, he lets the light smile fall, mainly knowing the physical type of the others of its family, John wonders what happened to her so that it is so. Maybe something to do with the reason she lives with Mycroft. Many possible situations pass through his head, none of them good, he swallows hard, the idea of that little girl going through some kind of soffering unsettled him.

— Your laughter is beautiful, I heard you when you were talking to Greg —

He smiles at her, unable explain himself why he said it, maybe because he did not know if anyone was saying it to her frequently or because it was just the truth, he probably just wanted her to do it again.

The girl drops her head to the side and gives a smile, bland, cheeks stained, she really didn't hear that ofenly. In the day they've meet, she shown to be more than ready to defend Mycroft, no doubt the man seemed willing to do the same at any cost, but, being the government agent who he was, the doctor wonders if all that affection was translated In small things.

— Sherlock, that uncle of yours, is pretty intense, you know? — John says, just to keep up the conversation. His mind, otherwise, was focus on find ways of being the one who would give her the "big things", while watch the funny way she drinks tea — You've always had this awkward relationship?

p— Not really — the puts the cup on the side table, her delicate movement is too alike Sherlock's, she seems ready to deduce a case — When my mother was alive, uncle Sherlock was the one of the family who was closer. He used to like me, I remember the violin — she smile sweetly to the musical instrument beside her, the pretty eyes flood in sadness — Even my grandparents liked I those times... — she turns to him, craving the blue in his soul — Just uncle Mycroft stayed with me after she died.

— What was her name? — John feels his chest tighten thinking about it, it a difficult, specially for a child who as left almost completely alone, the loving uncle stopped being there, the grandparents too, it was easy to believe herself abandoned in such a situation.

— Theres Holmes — she takes back the cup, holding it with both hands, eyes hold on the liquid inside — I believe you will ask my age at the time too. It was seven.

John's eyes widen, then regretting when she blushes slightly, looking away. He don't know what surprise him more, the what he imagine it was a deduction or the answer

— Do you have family, doctor?

— I've already asked to call me John, even though I think Mycroft has quarreled with you for it — She makes a funny face as shakes the head, half agreeing, half laughing — I Have a sister, but we do not talk much. We're not the same kind of person, you know? — She smiles a little, maybe she was the best person to understand — Was your mother younger or older than Sherlock?

— Twins, even if Mom always said she was the oldest. Just like Uncle Myke says he's smarter... Don't know if I'd believe...

John want to laugh about the "uncle Myke", but maybe she was only be angry ate him. Maybe never come back, the soldier wonders if she was the only one who needed company, he was, oddly enough, feeling very attached to her in less than half hour conversation.

— Well, at least explain why you two are so alike — He finishes his tea and puts it on the coffee table, maybe some cookies were a good idea.

She observes him, without blinking, it seems strange to notice how the links were being made on her tiny mind. Yes, very alike Sherlock. When she speak again her voice is low and half broken.

— Do you really think so?

— I do — He smiles from the corner, watching the curls, the blue eyes and the skin drawn in ivory — And from the way you spoke to that director, I see that the similarities go beyond gives the appearance.

— Mom and Uncle Myke always played deductions with me... But I never thought... — She looks at the leather chair, hesitant — I'll never be like my uncle, Doctor Watson .. John — she smiles — I look a lot like my dad, everyone says that, even my grandparents... Uncle Myke doesn't say I look like Uncle Sherlock. Never said.

John feels bad for her confusion, and leans forward, touching her arm, pulling her out of her own mind, bringing the blue bright eyes to his. That had the power of locking him up and part of his mind wonder if he holds her too, Sherlock's blues was catch on, always to his friend's attention. She could be family too, if she were closer to Sherlock. John would make her family.

— Maybe Mycroft, who seemed care very much about you, has never said why he thinks he's going to upset you, your Uncle Sherlock does not seem to react well to your presence.

— Uncle Sherlock hates me, and that's all Mycroft knows — She looks him straight in the eye, invading him brutally remembering Sherlock, exactly the same color, the same intensity, the sadness. Louise seemed so young for such a pain — It's my fault he doesn't have a sister anymore.

— Oh, come one, don't say that...

— I have to go, Doc... John... — She smiles, enjoying intimacy, and stands up without looking at him anymore — Uncle Myke surely already knows that I am here and is already furious with me. — She opens a familiar smile to the floor, very sweet — I have to go home and wait for the scolding.

— Right... — Stands up and follows her to the door of the apartment, always smiling, convincing himself to think about what she said after — You are coming back, aren't you? Come back and be my company.

Your cell phone rings: Come when you can, if you can not come now anyway. SH.

— Uncle Sherlock is impatient... — she smiles, while walking down the stairs, John can't avoid the thought of a little fairy slipping through his fingers.


	9. Learning on the afternoon

When I put the first foot in the street the cold winter goes into my clothes, but this time I don't accept the feeling, embracing myself, today was going to be a good day, until the end, I didn't deserve cold today.

My eyes rise to the two security men with their arms folded in front of me, the only thing to do is open a smile and try not look guilty. In that moment, if I were not the boss's niece, I'd probably have one or two bruises as punishment for the run they took from me.

— I'm sorry, guys, I had to visit a friend — I follow them, realising they're both very tense and alert, but, strangely, not angry, almost relived on seeing me — Are you guys okay? Is something wrong?

The man on my right is my security guard for three years now. Before him, Uncle Myke was going to pick me up at school every day, but when that had become impossible due time, and Thomas would always drive me home, sometimes he would buy me a ice cream in secret, trying to please me. From time to time I wonder what he knows about me, what Uncle Myke told him to be so careful and gentle.

The dark eyes are always on me, caring, almost completely destroying his "I'm dangerous" image. He is a gigantic afro-descendent man already with grey hair and an amazing talent with guns. Thomas never told me his story, just few about a war, I had no idea what was it, or what he did on it. He was a man who was always excited about telling other hero's histories. But I, in my imagination, was very keen to see him as the biggest hero.

Although, the ginger boy to my left was the opposite, had been working with us for a short time and I feel that, if he could, he would get drunk every time the job was with me. Obviously very talented and strong been, but terrible dealing with children, always assuming himself smarter then me.

— Your uncle will literally strip the skin of your flesh, brat. — Thomas, with a sweet and proud smile that shouldn't be there, opens a black car door for me, and, as I sit in the back leather, my eyes catch the proof of what my uncle meant by doubling up.

On top of Uncle Sherlock's building, I see a man in a black cap holding a sniper gun very calmly. His face is hidden, a shiver goes down my spine, this feeling of being extremely valuable takes me, if he wanted, I would be dead in a moment. I stare at the gun knowing some how his eyes were on me.

— Don't you guys think uncle Myke is exaggerating? Maybe just a little? — I relax on the sit, taking my eyes from the window. Obviously, they don't answer me, but isn't a problem, silence, when both sides want to be in silence, was perfect for me.

I had a lot to do on that afternoon. Private accounts to violate, information to gather, violoncello to play and a lot to study. If I put effort on doing everything I need, the day would come to be perfect.

The mansion is empty and I would be alone for a good time now. The two men search the rooms for intruders, bur find nothing. While I walk upstairs, wondering what to do first, Thomas talks something about staying outside and ready to come in if I need to. I don't remember to answer.

In my room, after change clothes, I review my plan. Part of it's come up to be before I sleep in the day before, the other part I made almost without wanting, and it was perfect! My uncle's office would be empty and unlock the hole day, and his computer password was easy, well, it would be to me, I remember listen to her totally without wanting it, I could write it perfectly if I want to, maybe.

It was wrong, yes. Dangerous, sure. I could end up kill or killing someone, definitely. But the only reason that plan come up was the fact I could answer some questions by myself. For example: how could that kid on the school know so much about my uncle? And who Ian was? Why he had so much effect on my uncle?

I had to know. I couldn't NOT know. And the opportunity was right there! Between deep breaths, my heart goes hard against my ribs, there was no real reason to be scared, it was an impossible to be catch situation, I guess being comfortable doing wrong things wasn't a good option anyway.

My uncle's home office was a wooden and comfortable place, with books and a fire place. I remember, some years before, sitting on the floor to study feeling safer close to the strange uncle now responsible for me. The memory of the caring eyes over me make my heart melt a little, he used to observe me over the paperwork, the green eyes scouting my face.

Closing the door without making a noise, I localise my responsible adults in my mind. The security guards were around the fesility, the gardiner's were on the place of work and, except somethings chance over night, the housekeeper, who basically just clean everything, would be there just for tomorrow. Let's work, I guess.

I sit on the leather chair, waving my legs under me, too short for it. My uncle's computer was the most organized place on earth and thank Lord to that. After a quick research, three files seem to be what I'm looking for, about the school and it's property, about my class room, especially speaking, and about Ian Pasteur.

The file about the school is merely technical, describing the wood used on the floor, the kind of grass used on the field, and lots of numbers, relative to class rooms and tables. It was terribly boring to say the least, but I keep read, maybe some useful information could be taken from all that counting and naming.

It's when I found it. The blue print of the building, my mouth fall and I bent over the table to see closer. All the descriptions above were on it, the giant kitchen, the class rooms and the sports area, but it was different. Under the soccer field, inside the earth, there was something, not named on the blue print, the same happened under the building it self, underground areas, connected by little underground corridors where all over the school, I wonder what inside and if it had any connection with the outside world.

I put the picture to print and roll down the page on the computer. In there was a sequence of observations, guns names, food supply and were find it on the underground network. I don't understand, the building was old to be built thinking about nuclear and chemical weapons and it was just a school why half of this things were doing under it?

After putting part of that information on my cellphone and taking the printed blue print to my backpack back I my room, I open the second file, about my class room isn't as technical as the other. It was a relatory/diary of the First World War. About a general called William du Bois and his son.

"Bill is growing as fast as the dangers of this world. My only felling after the latest happenings is that my only son may be in danger, threaten somehow. I simply couldn't survive his lost, and, I believe, and so my brothers in arms over their children. With that in mind, my dearest friend Josef Glacier and me, decide to build this amazing and safe place. For our children"

I can only assume they did it, because the next part is just data, a few numbers and the year it got ready. 1914. It seemed to be a super building already at the time, only military, rich and important could study there, save from the war. Both wars for what I could understand, the Cold War, every conflict since, the place was improved over the years to contain more weapons, more trained people and security systems. It was a fortress.

My hands shake a little, while I read, it was scary to say the least. A school full of rich and powerful trying to survive if danger comes. My mind run through this: but if I want to die with normal people? Maybe is worthy die with them.

Watch the murder of someone you love make you wish profundly die with them, losing my mother did it to me, but, manly, losing Someone so important made me put value on others lives. I could be in a place so safe while so many people die around me.

I shake my head hard, forcing myself to focus. The end of the file is about an specific class room, one of most importance, only the children of the highest level of our society could be there, the most well informed and somehow dangerous, according the writer of the file. The safety of those children was even more important than other safety, the lost of those children could cause chaos all over the British government.

My class room.

— Well, fuck. That explains a lot — I roll my eyes and convince myself that was just a big waste of time and none of those information were important, especially because, behaving, I would need to use none of it. At least safety was something granted — Well, let's see if Ian is safe.

His file open quicker that the other two, reviling a tiny picture of a way younger Ian Pasteur, straight face and his data under. Male, ex-elite soldier, chemistry, former MI6, surviver, homosexual... Wait. Ian was gay? That's something I should have deducted, normally I would, I'm used to non-straight people, uncle Mycroft is bissexual himself. How I didn't deduce that? I roll down the file, part of me still wondering if not noticing something was good or bad, and there is nothing else. It was an one page file, with no details.

I don't know what that means, if it was a black tag on the words, or a top secret password needy thing, I would understand perfectly. By not having anything means just that Ian gained the privilege of privacy, what probably explains why uncle Myke was surprised on seeing him, maybe not even my uncle knew his recent status.

But that was good or bad? Many things can be made for someone gain that kind of privacy, good and bad. Even if it was good it could be good for the United Kingdom, but it doesn't mean it was safe for me, or acceptable, especially when my kidnapper was still unidentified. Ian could be and amazing person, totally trustable and badass, or he could be an institutionalised mercenary. And, now proved that I can't deduce him right, I could only hope for the best.

— Running to your bodyguards. Going to Sherlock's apartment. Having tea with John... Louise Holmes, what the bloody hell?

He is standing on my door, staring at me from above, angry. My hands shake while I put the pen down, without taking my eyes out of him. Maybe is fear, or if I'm just nervous, the fact is my legs don't obey me to stand.

— You have any idea of what could happen? — he walks in and close the door, sitting on the bed, green eyes on me — Sit here. Come — shaking, I manage to sit beside him — Come on, tell me.

— John invite me to tea, and... — I can't look at him, once again I've done wrong, always doing wrong. How I could wait to be a good day if what I was doing was wrong? — I accepted. I thought may we could be friends, or something a like, it wasn't because of uncle Sherlock, even inspector Lestrade was there, we just talked, about silly stuff, and..

— Little one... — he puts the finger on my my cheek — Look at me.

The caring green examine every part of my face. I love how he trace every line of my curly hair, my cheek bones, lips and turn back to my eyes, and, even seeing my mother in every little part, as I know he is, my uncle Mycroft seems to like what he's seeing. He is not like my grandparents or Sherlock, and that makes part o my self hate fade a little.

— I know it's not being easy, and sometimes just seems it's never going to be. And I know very well how loneliness is hard... — he sights, intensively scouting my face — Are you happy about the visit? — I nod a little, not managing to stare away — He was kind with you, wasn't he? — once more I nod, letting a little smile scape, John was sweet enough — You going to keep visiting John Watson no matter of what I say, aren't you? Oh, dear, alright, little girl, you can visit him — my mouth fall open and his lips twitch in some delight — But your bodyguards take you and Watson has to feed you, have lunch and be something healthy.

I rise quickly before he scapes, and wrap myself on his chest, sitting lightly on his lap, hugging him thigh, strangely letting a laughter go, happiness coming through me. Not in a million years, having his permission was a possibility.

— Thank you so much, uncle Mycroft! Thank you so much — the hesitant hand goes through my hair and all he muscles relax sensibility. I rise my head to look in his eyes — How was your day, uncle Mycroft?

— Stressful — his green eyes acuse me silently, getting up and taking my hand while walking out my room —, in most parts, and yours? Here all alone, apologies again for that — he takes of the blazer while take his shoes, looking more tired without the anger. I'm sit on his giant bed, watching — Have you feed yourself? — he straighten his eyes in my direction and I feel my face twitching, I knew I was forgetting something — Louise... You have to take better care of yourself — uncle Myke turn his eyes to the floor, I recognize the guilty look — Well, I suppose I should be the one taking batter care of you.

— We can have lunch together, tomorrow! — he goes into the bathroom, for a shower, I believe — And talk about school, about the classes I'll take with Ian.

— It's a good idea — his voice is low under the sound of water falling. A little smile comes to me when the image of him coming to pick me up at school again forms on my head, it was beautiful, even if he wouldn't talk with Ian again and let me without leads to track — I could change my schedule for this week, and we would have lunch together every day until the beginning of you chemistry classes.

A full dressed with his blue pijamas uncle Myke come out the bathroom and I'm sure he mocks my happy face. The British government sits beside me, analyzing my face, caring. He looks tired, like the weight of the world was on his back, but also worried about something, I could smell the worry on him, full tar cigarettes, enough for being impossible for the shower to take it from him.

— You are very pale, young lady — his long finger goes through the line of my nose — You need to feed, forgetting about it is not a option — I let my eyes down, couldn't stare at him — I know taking care of yourself isn't easy, but is important, you are important, Louise, you deserve a good treatment.

— I know, uncle Myke, I'm sorry — I turn to the green, the very calm and comprehensive. It's always being like this, since I have to move with him, eating was a problem, at the beginning my body simply wouldn't accept food, even after I got better hungry wasn't a problem, I have to remember myself to eat — It won't happen again.

But he knew it would, I knew it too. A heavy weight falls in my chest, making my heart hurt and taking my air. How could I lie to him like that?


	10. The tiger and pool of blood

Sebastian Moran doesn't know why his boss is never up to kill him. Not when he makes mistakes, not when he doesn't gets anger after an stupid joke, never. Even when he already had the excuse to the mistake, James didn't even ask! For example today, how he could know the girl was going to figure the hole plan out and call Sherlock? And, manly, how could he know she was going out the building when, supposedly, she should be locked on a room? Ok, it was reckless, he is never like that, his job was not be so, he deserved punishment and he was fine with it. But James didn't even asked anything, the assassin wonder if he already knew about it and had time to decide if he cared or not.

While he observes the younger and shirtless man dance uppon his two dead man multilated bodies, the sniper tries to crack the mind of James Moriarty. The most dangerous and brilliant man he knew. The beautiful on that position James Moriarty.

The naked foot covered in blood, the falling jeans, one that show to much of the pale rips, the messy hair and, the prettiest part, the probably hot pistol on one hand, and the dagger on the other, liking in red. After calling Sebastian and his men to his apartment/office, and making an speech about the importance of making plans go right, the small man, like a little panther, jumped with a small knife in hand and cut the throat of one of them while rose the hidden gun and shot the other twice in the head. Quick and efficient.

Sebastian, afterwards, while watching his boss slothering the dead bodies, wonders why does Moriarty even need him.

As his personal bodyguard and the one leading the failed missing to get the girl, Moran thought, for a second, the next shot was on his chest, and, before dying, the consulting criminal were rip a lot of little pieces of his body. There was no other reason for James to call him on his personal apartment when he was going to kill those man, the logic was to Sebastian to be killed too. But, as always, not following the logic, the younger man, with the bright dark eyes, just turned to him, almost friendly smiling and asked, calmly:

— Seb, do you mind to find some substitutes? In these... — he places the bloody feet on the dead man's shot head — I want to have fun. Anatomy, ya know?

Seb... James Moriarty was the first to give Moran a friendly nickname, and it amuses the assassin. Everything in his boss in fact. Specially when the pale man took his shirt of to "have fun" with the dead bodies. Sebastian is sure, based on his experience on the army, he normally were going to be disgusted of the pleasure of mutilation the kid fund, but James... He was different, everything on him was different, curious, actually.

Sebastian, knowing he shouldn't be so amused with the craziness of his boss, pulls his notebook of the leather coat and, not noticing how his own breathing start to race following the boy's frequency, scrabble a little of the picture. Later, when in his bed, not managing to sleep, he could use it as a base to a much prettier drawing. Another for his collection.

Observing the skin of his boss carefully, the assassin can't keep the rage away. Without the make up he was using to important meetings, James still looked sick. Beautiful, yes, but delicate, like a butterfly. He was skinner then normal, his lips were still marked, just like the pretty cheeks, his fingers were still broken and, even with his denials, Sebastian could see his moviments were slower then normal.

All of those little things were making Moran feel several bad shivers through his chest. The small man was his boss, his responsibility, and he was strangely important for him, personally. And there was James: beaten, tortured, and humiliated, and, even if it was part of the plan, it was all Mycroft Holmes fault.

— Why couldn't I kill the fucking girl? — he stands up, putting the pensil back on his pocket, and start walking through the room. James turns to his bodyguard, he was really a tiger when angry, walking like in a cage, with hunger. Beautiful with the scars on his face, the dusty hair, and the glorious furious eyes. James wonder if he was keeping the sniper for a good view or because of his habilities — She was right there, in front of Holmes flat! I could shot her from the celling, she would die on John Watson's arms.

— Boring! — James jumps one of the dead bodies with the elegance of a ballerina and lands right in front of Sebastian. They would be face to face, if the younger wasn't so short, but the sniper would never say something about it, because of his love for his own life, of course. And, he likes to believe, his self-love was the responsible for his lack of urge over the other. Yes, the tamptation, Sebastian wouldn't resist it on another time, with another person, not so close to a younger and attractive man was James. But he didn't have the urge of taking the boss, he never had, Sebastian couldn't imagine himself over the boy, not over those evil yet sweet check bones — Killing her is boring, Seb! I want her. Talk with her. Isn't she fascinating? After everything she went through, and rose by Mycroft... It would be much more easy if you and these incompetents — he points to the bodies, passing so close to Sebastian he could smell the expensive perfume of the skin body — had got her for me! But no! You lose her, and, put her on the safest school in hole Britain, and made her uncle double the security around her.

James bonds over his desk, looking at his plans and pictures of targets, he looked incredible delighted with something, behind the angry, of course, amuse with something his sniper couldn't see. Sincerely, Sebastian didn't knew half of those people in the pictures taken on the same day, and it wasn't a problem for him. His eyes focus on the tall man dressed in a suit, Mycroft Holmes, his target, he was going to finish the man.

The rage come from down in his stomach to his chest, hitting on the ribs, as he imagine the almost bold man observing as James is beaten and humiliated, enjoying it certainly, maybe doing something himself, with the small evil man so vulnerable. The Tiger let his eyes run through the naked back of his boss, the pale skin marked, he deserved more than that treatment, Sebastian could treat him way better if the boy wanted, without the urge, he could be lot more gentle than normal.

— I want to prove a point, Seb... — the colonel rise his eyes, the dark eyes were on his pictures, the sniper let go the breath, glad his boss didn't cough him in his lust. He really didn't knew — To Mycroft Holmes, to Sherlock, to anyone. I want to learn more, I need more, the great fall has to be perfect, I can't let any lose end... And she — he puts his finger on the picture of the very pale and with a very sad looking, having deep eyes and being to skinny, girl — Is the...

— Wait, boss... — the tiger grabs the picture between his hands and James, even having to take a deep breath for being interrupted, enjoys the smile he let go. The consulting criminal once read a book about a man who could give that same smile, the 'smile of Lucifer', that comes from the lips, goes through the scars on his pretty cheeks, but didn't reach his eyes, the beautiful and cold blue eyes — I know this one here — he points to the smilly teacher beside Louise Holmes — We already had fun together.

— You already said that about Needhan, it didn't help us much — James pulls himself to sit on the desk, he would never admit it's by Sebastian knew he enjoyed that because of his size, the kid wanted to be as tall as the bodyguard. Some theories about confidence problems put up in his mind, but lack of confidence wasn't a problem for the tiny evil being — Who is this one? Handsome...

The deep breath Sebastian gives amuses James, for some unimportant human reason, one he just ignores immediately.

— Very handsome, I'm fact — once again Seb gives the 'smile of Lucifer', full of past satisfaction, but it doesn't gives the same pleasure to his boss. He actually knew the man in the photo well, too well, once again, James ignores, or tries, the human feeling. — We serve together, we had a lot of fun that time — James understands exactly what he is talking about, and, unexpectedly, he imagines himself uppon the smilly man, with a knife, yes, he could cut his throat, for fun, not because of Sebastian, of course — You know him too, boss, in that mission you put me, against Neal Peters — the consultant criminal rise the dark eyes to the multilated face of the sniper — Exactly this one. Isn't interesting he is so... — he rise the picture, looking through the light, coming closer to James, letting him gets his strong smell of alcohol and wood — Calm. Closer to his ex who put him through hell?

James follows the blonde's finger to the, almost not in the picture, image of Mycroft Holmes. Ideas just put in his head as he remembers what happened, so many data, he could build more than on plan that could be fun. Lot of fun, and it could be very useful, in the girl situation. His mind travel a little while he let his body fall on the table, arms above the head, eyes slightly closed and bouncing legs.

Sebastian wonders if his boss was trying to be sexy, or it was really that natural to him. The colar bones against the skin, even the hurt chest, and manly the waving hips, made the sniper question his own loyalty, really, maybe he could just jump in the boy and leave after have fun.

— Seb, I want the girl — James sits, making a little pout, almost denying the evilness of his being and desarming completely his bodyguard, Sebastian Moran couldn't hurt him really. — You gonna get her for me.

— Sure. How, boss?


	11. A lunch of almost tears

It took a hole week for me to accept that Alice's eyes were the most beautiful in the world, and that became my biggest concern. It took the same amount of time for me to accept that those nice people were actually trying to be good with me. It was one of the best weeks of my life, if I'm allowed to say. Even Uncle Mycroft making a weird face everytime I would say so, the twins, Alice and James were my friends now, I know he was happy about it too. Even if was too early to call them friends or something alike, but friends really sounded so good.

For the first time after my mom's death, someone was hearing my laughter every day. For the first time studying in London, I wasn't simply sitting on the first chair and listening to the teacher, without talking or looking around, too scared of screwing up something. It was a good sensation, not being just with myself.

On my first day of extra chemistry classes everything happened very naturally. I got to school early, sat on the second chair and waited for my... Colleges to come by. James arrived first, with a smile and a good morning, followed by the twins those with more than a smile to him, not that I would deduce anything about it, and, finally, Alice arrived. Well, finally I guess, naturally I'm not waiting for her, my anxiety didn't got smaller after her arrival. I mean, it did, if she missed class it could be because of a illness or so, but carrying for her wasn't wrong, I didn't need to be with my mouth so dry about it.

— Good Morning, Lise — she smiles, sitting in the table right in front of me. She gave me a brand new nickname, and it was sweet, it always came with a smile — First day of extra classes right?

— Yes! How is going to be like? With Ian and all — I ask on a low voice, because I'm too shy, I guess, or maybe because that way Alice is the only one to hear me, and the only to answer it.

— Relax — she turns to me, through the week the anxious and uncomfortable dark eyes had turn into bright darkness, full of recognising towards me, both of them making me feel transparent, like my every single thought and worry were written on my skin, waiting for her to read it. Strangely it doesn't bother me, specially when she is smiling that way — Ian is very nice and pacient, and — she bounds over the desk, closer sweet smile and eyes on mine — don't tell anyone, but he cares about us, for real, you know? He is always worry about our well being. And I think that's very nice of him.

— Well, yes — I search in my mind for a longer answer, but I can't find it — I believe you.

With another smile she turns front, I know is because the teacher is in class now, but certainly she was happy for having that excuse. Who wants to talk with someone who doesn't even know how to answer?

Through the day my level of anxiety goes up quickly, although everyone tried to calm me down with compliments towards Ian, but I wasn't worried with him. I was worried with me, and my lack of social skills. I don't even know why, but it would be great to make Ian like me. He was still a mystery, the only information I had about him was how he was a survivor of something, former MI6 and all. I didn't even knew if I should trust him. But a tiny little part of me want him to really like me.

— First exclusive class, Holmes? — while I'm putting my books on my backpack on the end of the class, alone as always because of my slowliness on copying, Sabrina comes to me.

Her eyes are not dark as Alice's, they were brown, yes, but way lighter, almost caramel, and certainly way colder, very calculating, as all in her, agressive, egocentric.

For reasons I can't imagine nor permit myself to deduce, she wasn't so close of the other any longer. When I arrive, seven days before, she was not only their friend, but some kind of leader. Now she stepped away. In any moment the other three act in a way to make her leave their small group, it was her. For some reason.

— Yes. Every Wednesday — I try to let my voice as sweet as possible, but my hands shake, she is about to say something, very unpleasant taking for her expression, and even making my best straight face, the true was it was going to be thought to hear.

But she doesn't have the chance. A big hand on my shoulder makes us look up, silently. Ian smile at her, making a shiver goes down my spine, always the cold eyes, this time even colder towards Sabrina.

— Let's go, Louise, lot to do today, and we still have to eat — he bounds a little, a different light behind his eyes when he observes mine — You uncle called me, all mysterious and bossy as always, and told me to feed you.

— Excuse me, then — Sabrina doesn't look at us while leaving, head down and hands shanking. I can tell from her walk and her body posture is not angry, although I can't say what is it without deducing thinks, and I'm doing quite well in not for the last days.

— Sabrina worries me sometimes, I would be very thankful if you keep a distance from her, Kay? — I look up to Ian's face and there is no trace of worry there, confusion maybe, some kind of internal arguing, his pretty eyes flood in a sweet sadness — But wherever. Let's go.

Some blocks away from the school there is a big park, I wonder what is it's name while walking besides Ian, hearing while he talks to himself about my grades and what to study with me today. A worm sensation goes through my chest, caused by his presence, his calm and... Familiar presence.

I stop still, letting him walks a little in front of me, but I don't see Ian. All I can see is a very well illuminated room, with a pale and beautiful woman holding me, she was always holding me, caring.

— You know I love him, Theres — a young man with sad dark eyes is sit in front of us — But I can't, I simply can't, not after all, is not his fault, I know, but... — Ian's cry that afternoon was deep and hurt, full of a soffering I don't recognize.

— Louise? — my eyes rise and i manage to focous on his worried expression. His dark eyes still hold that deep sadness, among all the other feelings — What's wrong?

— Nothing... — I snap without thinking, questions flooding my mind, like I normally do with uncle Myke, to not worry him — I am very sorry, sir.

— Oh my Lord — he grabs my shoulder pulling me closer, forcing me to walk along with him again — Don't call me sir! I love the army, but good Lord no...

I let a smile go and realized Ian Pasteur had my entire trust, even before remembering of him talking to my mom, even not know who was him. I've already decided to trust him.

After obligating me to put too much food in my plate, Ian set with me in a table closed to a window, allowing us to see the cars coming and going. But I don't look through the window, every move Ian does fascinate me. He knew my mom, enough to see in her a confident, to talk about love and pain.

A lot of pain, for what I could deduce (what a relive let my brain work without restrictions), a lot of pós trauma reactions, his eyes won't stop for a moment, always in alert, almost scared in fact, some loud sounds would make him glitch slightly, and even on eating, I wasn't the only one to force myself on it. If I wasn't looking for something, I would never be able to see it all, he was living like that for years now, maybe all those little things just split through his own perception, it was routine.

The apparent always sweet with everyone Ian was as broken as me. I shake my head, uncle Myke always say that calling myself broken was ridiculous, I'm not a toy or something, normally I desagree, but looking at my teacher I know he was right, a hurt person is not a broke toy.

Ian was like me, and he knew my family, he used to trust my mother. But...

— How? — I vocalise in a low voice, without even realising, I have barely touched my food, observing him, and, when he rise his eyes to me, chewing very slowly, I think he realise that.

— What?

Part of me knows I should just pretend that I've didn't say anything and keep up with my life's but I can't bare the curiosity.

— How do you know my uncle Mycroft? How did you knew my mom? I remember you on our guessing room, you were friends. But how? Why did that over? I don't remember you on her funeral.

Ian, still chewing, observer my face, a little smile on his lips.

— Have you already asked this to your uncle Myke? — The nickname strikes me, putting me straight in the chair — It was how Theres called him, I used to rather Croft, but wherever. Have you asked him?

— He... — I can't follow his words, "Croft"? — He didn't let me ask anything. I tried to research, but there is nothing about you. Who are you?

He bounds a little over the desk, using his arms as support and smile, the caring on his eyes, the total lack of rage or disgust for spy on his stuff unarmed me.

— And you always obey uncle Myke? — his head falls in his shoulder, once again making the reptile like move — Let's play a game, miss Holmes — he has a kind yet sad smile, observing my face — You can ask me a question, and, if I'm able to answer it, I truly will. But you have to answer me a little too. Kay? — I accept, sitting straight on the chair, his smile getting larger — Ask and eat, shortty.

— How do you know my uncle Mycroft?

— I was a young and well prepared soldier, climbing fast, and MI6 found me. I woke up one day and this strange well dress man and his umbrella were on my living room — he don't take his dark eyes from me, not even for a moment, locking me up in his look — He introduce me in missions, we grow closer, closer enough to me be able to become friends with you mother, for long enough to see him climb to what he is today, and enough to watch your birth. Theres was an amazing woman, you know that right — I shake my head, it was my only certain in live, actually — My turn. How is Sherlock? He was your Godfather, I hear he was working as a detective, but how is he?

— I don't really know. When momma died, uncle Sherlock didn't wanted to see me again, and we only saw each other again last week, because I needed him — his eyebrows are joined hardly — He hates me, Ian, he knows is my fault mama died.

Ian's hand move forward to grab my fast enough I can't even react, his touch is strong and kind, worry.

— Sherlock Holmes could never hate you, Louise, be adores you, the years didn't chance that and nor your mother's death. Sherlock Holmes how killed your mother — he turn his eyes to the table, for the first time taking them from me, full of some kind of guilt — I know I wasn't there, and I should have been, but I know Sherlock, I know he spent all he could of himself searching for you father — his eyes come back to me — If Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes could their would've kill him, don't doubt that, and is not just for your mother, I know you spend a year without talking after what he done. If Sherlock stepped away, it wasn't because he hates you, dear.

I want to desagree, but I could barely breathe, when he takes his hand of mine I can only keep my eyes on the table. That subject would always bring that cut like sensation, like part of my organs were being taken from me. It was not about my mother's death and I know, my hole body in hurting because of the flashes of the brown eyes who always cared about me, the same smile as daddy would always give to mommy, but this time, with much more blood.

— And why you stepped away, Ian? — my voice sound low and it made more difficult to breathe underneath it.

The before hidden pain in his eyes came to the surface in a strike, and he didn't bare to focous anymore, looking through the window, chancing cars with the dark and now lifeless eyes.

— I had a mission, your uncle gave me it, and I failed badly, I got hurt and our relationship just didn't worked out anymore. I step away from your mother because she reminded me of him — he smiles gently, almost as if seeing her — Always so smart, all of you, and imensily kind, even trying to keep feelings away, you have more emotions than most out there.

I stare at him, deducing more out of his eyes about their relationship than he was admitting. I wonder how hurt his was, but don't ask, I don't dare say anything, wondering now, maybe I actually couldn't. He was a handsome man, and, surely, deserved so much more, in fact, it was an almost sin, to see him so sad and hurt.

— The game is over. It's not doing good for us, baby girl — Ian turns to me, the kindness back to the dark, the pain almost perfectly hidden — Can I call you like that again? It's how I used to, when you where smaller — I agree, unable to speak — Let's go back to school, Kay?


	12. Fast as a heartbeat

Sebastian Moran gets slightly excited while he observes Ian Pasteur let que kid by the school gates. He remembered Ian very well, in all the details, even so many years after he still was a handsome son of a bitch, enough to make his heterosexuality be questioned for the first time all those years ago. The sniper shakes his head, focousing, his target was the girl. Louise Holmes.

He has three men behind him, set on the back of the car, and his guitar case on the sit next to him, he wasn't going to use what was inside there, but the Tiger can't deny that it makes him more calm. Wanting or not that girl was smarter then they expected from the beginning, and failing wasn't a real option, James would be furious, she was important for the conclusion of The Fall.

They observe the dark haired and extremely pale child, and how Louise look around a little, maybe searching for her bodyguards car, but it won't come, they were stuck ten blocks away with the rest of the involved on that kidnap, he plan was wait for Ian to get inside and take her discreetly, but, well, it became easier. The girl, making Sebastian question her logic and self-care, just walks away from the building.

The colonel waits for her to be a block away from the school to hup out the car, followed for his men. James was very specific on not harming her at all, what made everything more difficult, from choosing his helpers and now to grab her on the middle of the street, thank Lord the kid was a lonely.

In fact, he girl is obviously lonely and introvert, maybe anxious, by the way she walks, the way she scrolls through people, always head down and staying out of the way, not calling attention, Sebastian wonders how she can be like that, and why, the kid was completely different from her family, maybe James was wrong, maybe she was a completely ordinary kid who wasn't good enough even for Mycroft Holmes, growing with him could be the only reason for her introvertness. But that was up to James to ask.

Then, as if just to show the sniper wrong, making he remember how she managed to scape him a week earlier, Louise turns to him, without even stop walking, she just turns her head, focousing straight on her stalker, the cold blue eyes scrolling through his hole body, Sebastian was certain in that moment she was a very damage and brilliant little girl who saw his soul in one glance, she just knew with one look. Just like her uncle Mycroft.

Sebastian Moran stops abruptly in her stare, his man following the move, eyes on hers. For a fraction of second they just stare at each other reading, knowing, both wondering. Louise was thanking fast, the man could see her brain working, part planning how to deal with whatever that was, she could see his curiosity towards her, part wondering, lord knows what. So she ran.

— Fucking bitch!

Even with the backpack, the Holmes kid was a little rabbit, running between the crowd, zigzagging even avoiding the cars, she seems to know exactly where to go. Two block away she disappear in a small park, not even looking behind. Sebastian signals to his men to spare, wondering if she had somewhere to hide in there, and the four men disappeared into the trees.

Sebastian slowly feels a hit against his ribs, nervous or angry, fuck it, that little brat wasn't scaping from him, the fucking kid had to show up or James would kill more men, it was becoming difficult to find more of them. Then he saw it. Under a falling tree, inside the wood, hidden, was her backpack. Fucking smart little bitch, but not smart enough.

The sniper follows her track, the small footprints and the places she bounded to hide, why bother he question, the kid is more shortie then Jim, for a fraction of second he wonders if calling his boss for a nickname was something he should do, and if it was a good time to be thinking about James.

It was a stupid mistake, in the fraction of moment he was distracted, only faster enough to not to be catch by the man, Louise runs, passing almost close enough to touch Sebastian, enough to feel his perfume and the strong smell of gunpowder. She would even manege to scape, but Sebastian is taller and with longer legs, or that was her explanation for it later, and he grabs her arm, pulling her back.

Louise can feel her own heart against the ribs, the was the same man who tried to take her from school, the scars, the incredibly light green eyes, the almost white hair and the several weapons spread over his body. Deducing fast she knows he is from the army, he is a great shooter, incredible fighter, and wasn't exactly a good man.

— Gotcha — he presses the small and shaky body on his, holding thigh, eyes going through every little detail, she looked just like Sherlock, really — Did you really thought I wasn't going to get you?

She doesn't answer, fear and resistance mixed on the blue. For a few seconds Sebastian only observes her, the girl wasn't fighting against the grab nor made any move to scream, Louise was utterly calm beyond the fear, in fact, staring him straight in the eyes, scotching his soul certainly.

Louise thank silently some god for what she just noticed, but it wasn't only risky, it also could get her killed, make the man angry, it was obvious he didn't wanted her dead, but irritate him wasn't a good idea certainly. A flash of how Mycroft Holmes would be terrified if having her niece kidnapped puts her doubt away. Louise was going to get home to uncle Myke no matter what.

Is too late when Sebastian realise the weight shifting, the kid bounds back, pulling his body with her and before the man could shift it back, Louise's front head goes heavily against his nose, breaking it. While the man still shaking his head, her knee goes up, straight between his legs.

Louise, felling his hold less tight, takes the opportunity and run, as fast as she can, not idea where to go or where the other kidnapers where, so she turns herself to the exit of the park, maybe on London's crowd she could disapear easily.

Felling her heart beat on her finger tips, Louise catch the exit gates look, the well put road of grey bricks of the park ended on the street, the passing people and cars framed by red iron gates, safety or something alike. She forces herself to go faster, hearing the heavy steps of the terrifying man right behind her.

The girl is six steps away when a van stops in the sidewalk, almost covering all the exit, and it's side door opens, reveling an even more scary man, up to grab her. The terrified heart jumps one or two beats, the fast brain knew her chances were too small, as small as the space to scape the van and reach the street.

Focousing on the small space between the gate and the car, Louise hears a gun shot, terrible words and more people behind her, but her legs don't stop, the blood going fast against her ears and hands, heart putting up all his effort, but the mind was calm, all she could see was outside, the building on the other side of the street, and the people, now panicking, but still showing the child hope of scaping. Her shoulder goes against the the metal at some point, but the adrenaline doesn't allow the pain to reach her. A hand grabs the uniform coat while more shots make her lungs vibrate, but the hand quickly let go. Louise doesn't allow herself to think about why, she just keep running, without knowing were.

Uncontactable blocks away, her cheat hurts and she can't breathe, her shoulder and arms start pulsing and stubborn tears flood her eyes. Louise's mind can only think about finding someone, anyone. No. Not anyone. She just wanted her uncle right now, just go home.

Sebastian screams in frustration sitting on the back of the car. It shouldn't be like that! The girl was right there. He even hold her, looking at his hands now his only desire is to punch something. James would be so furious.

— Sir, please stay still. You are still bleeding — the man, the only survival, in the front sit looks through the mirror, slightly worried. He was probably talking about his bleeding arm, the shot, the broken nose, but the sniper wasn't even feeling the pain, too angry for that. — Who were those guys?

— Fuck it, just drive. Fuck everything.

Yet Sebastian knew who were they, he would recognise them in any moment, better off dead now. He couldn't wait to tell James about them, his boss would find it curious, even an amusing competition, but Sebastian was only bothered. Because of those idiots in that idiot van he lost the girl, fucking lucky girl. Well, lucky wasn't the word, now two master minds were after her, but still, it was the second time she get away from him. It wasn't going to be a third.

His phone rings, he lets the sound of sweet dreams call him down a little before answering.

— Boss — he does let James say a word —, we fail again. But this time it wasn't only our fault.

— What are you talking about? — the angry on the criminal was almost fisical, a satisfied shiver goes through Sebastian's body, bringing the pain of the wound — Are you going to blame a teenager?

— No, sir, she was right there, but we weren't the only ones after her. Peters want the girl, sir, I recognize the man, he is after her God knows why.

— Well, I know why... — James's voice holds reflection and amusement — Mycroft Holmes made the wrong man angry. Again.


	13. Private Police

As my heart slow down, the pain comes to my shoulder and arms, my legs shake terribly and I can't force myself not to cry. I manage to keep the unwelcome tears away my eyes, but they keep coming. The crowd surrounding me was wondering, talking, about guns, and gangs, ignoring my experience

The fault comes to me, one again people died because of me, of my careless. I close my eyes, shutting the tears and the thoughts, I had to go home, to uncle Myke. Being logical I should first come back there for my backpack, but it takes some minutes for my courage to convince me to go.

The park is surrounded by policemans and cars, the bodies of the men who chased me are being taken away. My original plan is to sneak inside, and leave as fast as possible, find my bodyguards gods know how, but I catch the view of a grey haired man with his back turn to me and I'm unable to stop myself. With the fastest step my shaky legs can give me, I wrap myself into his heist.

— Mister Lestrade, please, help me.

Gregory Lestrade turns to me, eyes going through my hole being. He gets on one knee, getting smaller than me, it's amusing, the worry on his eyes and his delicate hands on my shoulders, before even asking how am I, made my chest shirink and hurt, it was the chance the bothering tears were waiting for. They roll down my cheeks and, without caring is he wants me or not, I jump on his neck, hidding my face on his clothes.

— Oh, my God, it was you — he holds me, hands on my back, pressing me against him — The girl they were stalking. Dear god, Louise you are shaking like hell.

Impressively, the inspector stand up taking me with him, my feet leave the floor while he is holding me tight in his leap, walking. Normally it would make me panic horribly, the sensation of not having control over myself going through me, but his contact just helps to calm down my heart.

— Sally, bring her backpack — I hear him talking to someone —, yes, is her. Yes, she looks just like Sherlock. Just hurry up and bring it, and come with me, we will take her to the station.

In the car, no word is said, he doesn't let me go for a minute, the hands tense on my back, the face put against my hair, almost as if he's really worry. Well, he works for uncle Myke, and I know what means the way they look at each other, he was worried about how my uncle was going to be. Surely he wasn't worried about me, it was such an waist of time. Maybe he doesn't know is my fault those men are dead, more and more numbers to my personal list, even if they were criminal and wanted to hurt me, it was my fault, and nobody deserved to die like that.

I can't hold the painful sound that scapes my mouth, it was fear, so much of it, the adrenaline was leaving my body and the panic was taking over, my mind knows how close I was from being taken away. Only the gods know where.

— Hey, you will be fine, ok? — I feel the vibration of his voice in my face, coming from his chest, and, surprisingly, it calms me down a little — Look, I'm calling your uncle — I don't rise my head, my face must be horrible, but my body reacts, alert, I with the mention of uncle Myke — Mister Holmes, is Lestrade, I'm with Louise. She is fine, extremely nervous, but she'll be fine. I'm taking her to my station. Right, we'll be waiting for for you. Oh, ok.

I feel the cellphone being put on my ear. I don't move a muscle, and focous in hearing.

— I'm coming to get you, little one — I can feel the tension on his voice before he turns up.

I might sound silly and childish, but, in the moment his voice comes to me, I feel safe, uncle Myke was coming to get me. My heart slow down a little and part of me realize how ridiculous I'm being, so I stand up, leaving Gregory's chest and sit by his side. My face is probably very red and extremely ugly, so I don't raise my eyes to him, just put my chin on my chest.

— I'm sorry for that reaction, sir — I do the best I can to keep a controlled and calm voice, and be the most polite as possible — It was silly. Thank you very much for you help, I didn't know what I would do without it.

— Silly? — I look shyly through the corner of my eyes, he opens a side smile — Dear, you were extremely brave all day! — I rise my head to him, not understanding — You managed to scape those men, obviously very dangerous and violent man, a gunshot, that could have you dead, and even came back for you backpack! You were amazing! How old are you? 12? And you didn't even hesitate! — I'm shocked. He really believed that, well he doesn't even half. Lestrade doesn't know how my heart almost felt from my mouth while I was running, or how I almost couldn't force myself to run when that blond man found me on the woods, Gregory doesn't even imagine how I almost didn't manage to fight against that man to scape when he grabbed me. The detective inspector hasn't the faintest idea — Hey, kid, crying is ok, is perfectly OK to be terrified in this situation. You are panicking in the right moment, when you are already safe. It doesn't make you less brave, just makes you human.

I'm speechless, his very dark eyes are very sincere and proud, but I don't feel so proud, I just feel shaky and full of fear, shamefully, my only real wish is to be with my uncle right now. I hold my hand with the other, keeping myself from shaking, my mind goes back to the blue murderous eyes of the sniper. Sniper? A series os deductions going from his right finger to the very firm grab, take the to see how he is an actually good sniper. Just like the one on the roof of 221b that day, in fact exactly like him, even the same shoulder angle.

I swollow hard, who ever it was, the man was following Me for long now. I wonder if I tell this to Lestrade or my uncle, they would be so worried... I fight internely, trying to understand, all of that shit basically.

— Today was a very weird day, you know? — Lestrade is observing me, I believe his worry now is to keep my mind occupied. — Strange murders... Nothing alike the things you uncle Sherlock solves, of course.

— I used to read about them — I answer, putting some effort on keep up the talk. Gregory deserve that, really, he was a nice fellow, maybe he could be my uncle someday. I shake my head, it wasn't a time to form imaginary couples — How did you guys meet?

The car stops and the woman who drives hoops out of it, Gregory holds my hand while we follow her, he does let go in any moment, holding me tight, the nice touch keeping me calm. I ignore the policeman around us, specially when I see the tall ginger man waiting for us in a room with glass walls. I wonder how he got there so fast. He has his arms crossed in his chest, umbrella being hold strongly, my uncle is so stressed his eyes doesn't even rise to us, fixed on an invisible point on the void, I'm unable to run towards him, all I want is to calm him down.

— Uncle Mycroft? — I call from the door, and, as the green focous on me, Gregory let go my hand. Uncle Myke puts his both hand on my head, watching me. I have no idea how I look like, probably like hell, but I don't fucking care, he was right there and it was what it matters.

— I'm sorry, uncle Myke.

— It's ok, little one — me pulls me to him, pressing my face on his chest — You did exactly as I said, you did everything right, it wasn't you fault. And you are fine, is not going to happen again.

— Your uncle is right, miss — Lestrade kneels close to me, once again putting himself in a shorter position — And I'm going to help him with that. We are going to talk, and you will tell me everything about what happened. I'm going to catch these guys.

At the same time uncle Myke star saying "I don't believe it will be necessary", I went on "ok, sir". Gregory rise his eyes to my uncle and the green are on me, worried, I know is better for him to solve it alone, but deep inside I know staying a little longer with Gregory might do doing for us, both of us.

My uncle's eyes fall on Lestrade's, both man reading each other. I can't tell how Gregory fells about that eye contact, but I know my uncle enough to say he is going to blush is it continues. His body position shifted slightly, a little bothered, hands going from my face to my shoulders and, to prepare the hole situation, his eyes fall to what I imagine to be Gregory's lips. A bright red pulsation goes from his neck to his face extremely quickly.

Knowing he is extremely unsettled, and might want to leave as fast as possible, I have to act fast. Wrapping my arms tightly on him, pressing myself even more on him, this allow my uncle to stare at me, hidding a little his blush, not that he'll ever admit having one to someone as Gregory.

— Oh, fine. We will let inspector Lestrade take your statement — he guides me to sit in front of Lestrade's table, but stay stand, hands on my shoulder. — Lets go with this, inspector, I want to take her home.

Gregory asks me to tell everything that happened, meanwhile he grabs his chair from behind the desk and puts close to me, I don't answer, observing him, uncle Mycroft follows he every move, silently questioning. The man takes an third chair and place it right beside me, indicating it to my uncle.

Mycroft "to arrogant for this shit" Holmes just sits and cross the arms on his chest, looking slightly moody, but I, who knows him best, can see how pleased he is with the gesture. Just after I notice my uncle is more relaxed and the inspector isn't observing him anymore, my statement begins.

— I left school, after an extra class, and my bodyguards where not there. So, as my uncle teach me, I started walking to a bus stop close by, because staying waiting is more dangerous than walking among a crowd.

— Cleaver — Lestrade agrees, shaking his head.

— I am — my uncle answer it without even rising his eyes, he is very tense and worried, I know he said it without speaking and, thank Lord, didn't notice the eyes roll Lestrade gave him.

I speak for about five minutes, trying to give all the details without boring them. As the story goes I see both minds working together, each one on a specific area, both very worried. It bothers me the fact that they are occupying they're mind with me, but I like the idea of both of them working together, even if just for some moments.

After I'm done the silence takes over the place. Silence bothers me and I know is a problem for my uncle too, so I force myself to think fast, or he was going to stand up and we were going home.

— Inspector, you didn't finish to tell how you and uncle Sherlock meet.

Gregory doesn't hid the smile, he was looking for a motive for us to stay too, definitely worried about how my uncle was felling, the man was obviously close to a break down after hearing how I was almost taken from him.

— You are right! — he catches the opportunity, bending a little towards me. My uncle turn to me, analyzing, scouting my expression — But I have a better story for you, kiddo. About how I meet you uncle Mycroft.

I let my head on uncle's shoulder, who puts his arm over me, a almost desperate grab, keeping close, both of us with eyes on Gregory. The DI holds my hand in his, and, I can tell, almost do the same with the bigger hand close by, but I think it's asking too much of him.

— I was a street cop at the time, younger, angrier... One day I was called on this gunshot, the first on the place — he keeps his eyes on Mycroft, very dark eyes remembering on the very sad green — Well, it wasn't a random gunshot, you know, it was an execution, some old important guy from the government died immediately, but his co-worker was perfectly fine — I rise my eyes to my uncle, he is focused on the inspector, no expression, but visibility less tense — He was a skinny ginger younger than me, extremely arrogant and who refused to be in shock. I ended up feeding him, and taking him myself to the hospital. Years later I figured out that he was the brother of the jun... Crazy young man who was helping me to solve cases. Still bossy thought...

— I'm bossy simply because I'm your boss, inspector Lestrade — uncle Mycroft stand up, obviously more calm, not taking his eyes from the other man — Thank you for your... Help.

They shake hands, I catch myself wanting to them to keep the hold a little longer, but it doesn't happen. They let go and uncle takes my hand, walking fast with me to the exit, emotionless. But, when I look back, Gregory has his eyes on my uncle's back, lips rising slightly while we leave.


	14. They care so much

Mycroft Holmes is beyond stressed. At this rate, he would have a heart attack before 60. In less than 2 week Louise was almost kidnapped twice, change school to a military like institution ruled by a psychopath, and meet one of his ex boyfriends. He takes his cigarettes with one hand, not letting his niece go even for a second. "Boyfriend" fucking silly word for what Ian used to mean.

The government officer run the eyes through his child, he could practically see everything that happened to her. The running, hidding, being caught and fighting the agressor, being extraordinary brave. Good girl. He rise his tomb, without letting the hold, and pass it on her cheek.

The blue invading eyes come to his, going deep in his being. Those eyes, Sherlock's blue, Theres' blue and, annoyingly, Eurus' blue, beautiful, yes, full of memories of beloved ones, but extremely unsettling. That little girl was his last chance on so many things in his life, and he was falling her, the exact same way he failed with the others. Although the failure, he could see the profund hope and expectations Louise put in her uncle. Her uncle Myke. Never in years Mycroft Holmes imagine himself as the beloved and needed uncle Myke of a little girl with eating disorders, social anxiety and depression. His little one.

Louise puts her head on his chest, never letting his hand. An irrational will of holding her and never letting her go takes over his body. His niece was one of the only people who could make him be extremely irrational, really. Mycroft knew he would tear England apart for her without even blinking.

He puts his other hand on her hair, letting the cigarette go.

— We are going to see uncle Sherlock, alright? You can stay with John if it makes you more comfortable, I need to talk with your uncle.

— I don't want to give him trouble, uncle Myke — she, once again, invade him with the blue sad eyes, stormy doubts on them. — He will feel horrible for investing things involving me.

Mycroft almost close his eyes in satisfaction, his little one always worried about Sherlock, even if he is indifferent or rude, she would always love him. The irrational part of his mind knows how it was the exact same love towards her uncle Myke. It's amusing to think about it.

The car stops and the British government walks out, he is crossed and worried enough to just walk fast towards to door, without worrying about Louise holding his hand, she had to run a little to follow, but her uncle doesn't bother in observe it. And she doesn't mind that, knowing his stress, running a little was a small price to pay.

Sherlock is laid on the sofa dressed in his pijamas, both foot on the wall and head placed on the floor, looking just like a child, thinking. The blue eyes open to Mycroft, examining his brother, the tension, the smell of cigarettes, and the hand holding strongly Louise.

Sherlock would never admit, but the sight of his niece took him to a bloody house and a devastating pain, she was the exact copy of the picture of an old place of his childhood, running with Theres, she was his long side pirate. Now she was gone, and he could bare to look at his goddaughter, how could he?

— What do you want, Mycroft? — Louise find it funny the fact he doesn't even bother to move, staying upside down, but doesn't laugh, her heart is sinked on the bones, he could even bare to look at her.

Mycroft observes the two os them, Sherlock's eyes clearly avoid her vision, avoiding pain, and Louise simply accepting the guilt. After so many meetings on so little time, maybe it was better to take Louise back to a doctor, but that was a worry for another moment.

— Louise! — John Watson, getting out of exactly no were, hugs Mycroft's niece, pulling her away from him. The government officer feels the hand empty and has to control the will to take her back, away from the soldier — What happened to you? With your head?

— Why don't you take her inside, Dr. Watson? She might be hurt — she shakes her head and step back to his hand, grabbing with her both — I know, small one, I'm right here, just go. John will take care of you.

Louise obeys, letting go, making a bitter taste grow on his mouth, his hand never felt so empty. Sherlock sits straight, worried face, reading the situation. That's what Louise wouldn't see ir, how he still cares, even through his pain.

— I'm sorry, brother, for putting you through this again, but I had to come. And I need your help. She was almost kidnapped again, with guns, and violence, deaths, in the middle of the street — his brother face falls in to a tense form, understanding — Somebody wants her. Badly. And they don't mind the consequences.

Sherlock stands up, taking it seriously now. Mycroft find it amusing to see how his shoulders stay tense and his face falls in serious concentration, deducing, wondering, just like the boy who would call the police 15 time a day to tell them he solved a case and they were idiots. Maybe, just like when they were children, he could help his brain to work faster.

— Do you want the names?

— The small of the last two years — Sherlock doesn't sits, and his brother knows exactly how he will move next, think next — and the big of the last decade.

John holds Louise's face while putting some ice on her front head, he wonders what happened with her, but don't ask, she didn't need a curious old man right now. Her eyes are sad, deeply hurt, and a will to punch the responsible comes to his bones, she was so young to be so sad.

— I thought we would only see each other tomorrow — the soldier tries to take her mind of what happened — You had classes today, right?

— Yes, with Ian, my chemistry teacher — she gives a smile that shines lightly on the blue, John take a few seconds to realise that smile made his day — It was a nice day... Until the blonde guy came. I was scared, but Lestrade said it's ok to be scared, I'm fine now — she looked in the guessing room direction — My worry is uncle, he shouldn't be left alone. I have to talk if uncle Sherlock, John — it was one of the first times she called him by the batism name naturally, a warm sensation grew in his chest — But is OK to be scared, right?

Louise had a tense expression, the delicate eyebrows putted together, he wishes to show her how not scary is Sherlock, how her uncle is a sweet man. A flash of the adorable smile and the light blush of the pale cheeks of his flagmate comes to him bringing a shadow of a smile, a sweet man.

The girl gets up and take a pic through the door, Sherlock and Mycroft are deducing, playing, it a funny thing to observe, like a dance, their normal dance, of course, but without the annoying sequence big insults. She observes, waiting for them to finish, it's amusing, like the real brothers of many years ago.

— Is the only option, Mycroft, the two possibilities, but first I have to see the scene — Sherlock walks around, thinking, worried — Two fronts might make the protection easy, but we need a realistic strategy.

— You are going to the crime scene? I have to take Lou home — Mycroft's face turns profoundly sad and deep, the green eyes unable to focous, the worry moving in his brilliant mind. Louise knows that pain, and knows very well Sherlock's expression. He isn't satisfied with his brother pain. It was her chance.

— Uncle Mycroft? — she let herself be seeing, trying hard to ignore Sherlock's rejection — Are we leaving?

— Yes, small one — he rise his hand for her to grab it — Let's go, say thank you to Doctor Watson.

But, when she opens her mouth, it's not towards John, the blue eyes are stuck on her pale uncle. The two of them stare at each other for a few seconds. John and Mycroft are still, observing, both can see how much pain there is on that stare.

— I'm so sorry for everything, uncle Sherlock, sorry for taking you sister out of you hands, for give you so many bad memories — the detective can't move, he just keep his eyes on the small face — And now I'm bothering you again, I'm sorry for everything, I know I can't undo that. But please, Sherlock — she rise her eyes to Mycroft, the green deep eyes — do it for him. He is so stressed, I know is my fault too — she turn back to the youngest Holmes — Look at him, he cares so much, do this for him, I hate to see him like this. I think he even lost weight in the last weeks, I don't want him to stop eating again. He deserves to be ok. Please.

Sherlock observes his brother, mind running fast, so many information. Sorry for what? Stop eating again? Bothering him? Yes, Mycroft was smaller even, impressively stressed, tense lines on his expression, worried with his girl. Their girl. No. Sherlock didn't have the right of calling her his, although the idea of her believing being hate hurts, imensily. He just shakes his head and stand up, noticing the moves on the room. Fear coming from his goddaughter, angry from John and a slight pain from his brother. A hard painful thought comes to him, how he could do that to the important people of his live. Well, wasn't always like this?

— I will do everything I can — he answer, hard to put out the voice — To keep you under your uncle Mycroft wings forever. Safe. And, I assure you, it's the only way to keep him... Ok.

John is struck by that frase, even more confuse with the hole situation than before, but he was certain of something: Sherlock Holmes didn't hate his niece. It was exactly the opposite. He catch the eyes on Mycroft. The British government knew what the man realise, and, silently, both man decided, maybe not together, they were putting those two back on the same side. Back in the same family.


	15. Deducing kidnaps

John observes the wide park, the blood can still be seen closet by, the moviment is still small, people were avoiding the place. He can't even imagine how scary it was for Louise to go through a chace like that all alone. His eyes turn to the tall and very pale man jumping around the place, going up and down looking for god knows what, .

— They pressued her through the park — Sherlock, breathing heavily, stops beside John, the normally pale cheeks colored in a light red, well draw lips slightly open — Three man, the one she called sniper was the only able to follow her, he has very good militaries training and soft footprints, still a big man. She was very smart on hiding, but he cough her, the struggle marks of her can be seen. I believe it caused the bruises on her arms. After that, she managed to scape him, fight knocking him with the forehead, but almost didn't scaped a car, according to her, a van. It stoped right on the exit there— he points the gates, eyes running on other directions — Gun shots, and deaths, she managed to run between the gate and the car, hurting the shoulder. Two different groups after her, competing. And she escaped.

— You are proud of her — John states, feeling the different tone of Sherlock's voice and noticing the small smile on his face. — You like her, I could see while you were talking yesterday. You care as much as Mycroft. Why you let her believe otherwise?

The hurt blue eyes break John's heart, vulnerable, Sherlock avoid his stare, focous on the blood stain, taking himself back to a painful place. His chest goes up and down, not because of the effort from before, the soldier could almost tell how raced his friend heart was. The tin body contracts, shrinking visibility.

John is able to see shame and infinite insecurity in his friend body, through the long coat and cheek bones, Sherlock was unable to stay cold on that subject. The soldier forces himself to analyse every bit part of his behaviour, trying to crack a way of making the pain go away and a form of putting him and his niece back on what they should be.

— You don't understand, John. Mycroft don't understand. Only Louise can, she was so young, she have seeing so much... — he rise his look, to invade John's, making the shorter man's heart race, knocking against his ribs. His friend's pain was destroying — Theres was the good part of the family. I was to cold, Mycroft was to insensitive, she was warm and brilliant, extremely patient with our parents, loving even when she was loving alone... I believe she was the only thing me and Mycroft loved at the same time. Brilliant biologist, amazing professor, better deducer then Mycroft. Beautiful woman. And Louise was beautiful when born, too, looking just like her mother. I am her Godfather, I keeped myself clean for her, studying, peaceful with Mycroft and mommy. Even him put effort on doing things right her and our girl, even being completely unable to hold her — he opens a smile, exactly the same sad smile of Louise, the sweet movement John realised that moment it was his favorite on the other man — Life was good.

"One day Theres called me, our brother didn't answer his phone, I was the only opinion. Mycroft still blame himself for it. I took a hole hour to get to her, by train, skipping classes for the first time in years. In the moment I got inside", his eyes turn back to the blood again, flooded, as John could see, not just by tears, "I could see what happened, it flooded my mind immediately, unstoppable. He teared her apart, John, so much angry on every part of it, so much violence. Louise was so small at the time, crying so hard, without making a noise. When she looked at me I could see how she was hurt, big full pain eyes. Theres eyes. She was completely naked on a pity of blood, covered on it, too in shock to move.

"I took her to Mycroft and, for the first time in years, I used enough heroine to keep me away for a week. I abandoned them, she wasn't the only one who didn't know what to do, my brother was desperate. When I came back she wasn't speaking, my brother was terrified, my parents rejected her completely, incapable to look at her, mainly mommy, and she was so hurt. In the moment she looked at me, I could see so much shame for a girl her age. Our little girl couldn't even hug me, she didn't wanted to be touched. I remember to be glad she didn't, in my egoism I couldn't even hold her without remembering my blooded sister.

"I made a deal, John", his pale shaky hands, the waterly eyes and broken expression give the soldier a will to hug him and take him home, he deserves a hot tea and caring. "My company would only make her suffer,and I wasn't able to bare the pain her presence caused me. I took years to get better, a disturbed man close by wasn't good."

— And you think she believing in hate is best, Sherlock? — the tall man flinch with the touch in his face, while being pulled to a hug. John feels his hesitation in putting the arms on his height, but the long fingers hold tight to his jacket. John hold the back of his head, putting his face on the other shoulder, the short fingers on the soft curls. Sherlock had a very good smell — She adores you, Sherlock.

— He scaped, John — the break deep voice goes against John's neck, a pleasure shiver goes on his spine — The murder. I couldn't get him, Mycroft turned the world upside down to find him. We couldn't... We should have... The man who killed Louise's mom, and abused her is out there because I simply couldn't, John. She shouldn't be putted to love someone who failed her so badly.

Sherlock's phone rings, making the two man step away. John appreciate the red on the other's face and the blue eyes avoiding contact. His own heart is racing, probably because of the sad history. Thinking through it might even be because of the hug, how many times did they even hugged? The sensation of the curly hair stay on his hand and it's smell goes up and down with his breathing. The curly hair and smell of his friend.

— Mycroft. Yes, I'm on the park — the shaky voice turn straight in a heart beat, John gives a side smile enjoying the brotherly love — Yes, two groups. One by foot and the other with a car. I believe it was Moriarty and the Peters one, for what you said he was very damaged by your organisation. But I can't really tell what they want to do with her.

John turn his attention to the street, trying to give Sherlock privacy. On the other side of the almost empty Street, there is a man, very blonde with a guitar case on his back. They stare at eachother for a few seconds, John barely notice Sherlock's tone getting tense for some reason. Then the man salute, smile making the full of scars face get even scary.

When Sherlock turn up the call, extremely pale, John is already running towards the exit of the park. The detective ignores the move, mind racing through possibilities, and diles fast, forcing his hand to stop shaking.

— Lestrade, Somebody took my brother Mycroft. I need your help.

Sebastian even managed to ignore the insistant pain on the not healed enjury, the adrenaline runs through his body in the chace, John Watson right after him. The Colonel wasn't going to lie, he didn't expected to get cough on a running through London, but he wasn't complaining, now he could see who has the best military man: Sherlock or James.

Some blocks away he decided to make James proud. Turning on a corner, the most closed angle possible, he stops abruptly, turning fast to grab the small man, pressing him on the wall. The move was fast and precise, John feels the air leave his lungs with the hit, when his is ready to react, it's impossible, his body is stuck on a bear hug.

— Hi, John — the blond man smiles — My name is Colonel Sebastian Moran, I'm very pleased to meet you, sir! I was observing you two, beautiful couple, I'd like to say.

— We are not a couple — he struggles against the other man, the arm pressed on his throat.

— Yes you are — the huge man shake his head, laughing — I just saw you sniffing his neck, sir, that's not actually friendly. Or straight. I was already like you, army, manly man, and all, I was an idiot. And you enjoyed the touch. His hair must me amazing — he aproches their faces, nice almost touching John's, the angry on the blue eyes amusing Sebastian — if you want an advise... Sex with another man is fucking amazing, and that "friend" — he mock the work, making the lack of air in the doctor mind improve with the anger — it's pretty hot.

A car stops behind him and the sniper can hear the electric window opening.

— Come on, Tiger! — James's voice sounds boring, going straight to Sebastian pelvis — Stop bullying the smaller children! — Sebastian pushes the other man hard on the wall, observing how he goes down to the floor, backs supporting the head. Looking from up high, John Watson was hot too — Bye, John. Say hello to Lou for me, looking after to finally meet her.


	16. the bleeding government

Alright, alright, alright, every one who read this. I was doing some research and this next chapter, apparently, can't be fulled posted on this website. I accept, rules and all. So, we have some considerations to put. The parts I took if this chapter are very violent and aren't plot relevant, so I doesn't make a difference not reading it. But, if you guys want to read it in his full glory and violence (rape and torture), there are 3 other sites with "That's why I stay" by TimeLadyMycroft. Wattpad, AnimeSpirit and ao3. I'm sure you will find it easily. Please enjoy, anyway. Thank you.

— So it were two separate groups — Mycroft Holmes is sit on his car, heading for a meeting, phone on the ear and extremely worried. Revising his last days, he was like this for long now. — Sherlock, the options are the worst! James Moriarty and Neal Peters are two disturbed and violent men, Louise already suffered too much.

— Take her out of the country — his brother voice came to him, tense, shaky with the cold — Until I get Peters, who ever he is. You can keep Jim away from her. We will manage this, Mycroft, we can keep her save!

— We are not doing a very good job, at least I'm not —looking at the well cut nails, Mycroft still remembers his shaky girl on Lestrade's office — I talked with her teacher, Ian Pasteur, he will keep her under his supervision.

— I believe you trust him...

Before Mycroft answer his brother the car stops in a bump, looking through the window he can see two black cars surrounding his, a shot is heared then other two. His driver is dead and, he doesn't even need to confirm it, his stress sistem is destroyed. Grabbing his umbrella, the officer observes a group of man approching.

— What the hell.. — Sherlock is still on the phone.

— Gun shots — the elder brother answer, tipping fast on the phone, locking the important informations and erasing others — I'm about to be taken. Sherlock, track my phone.

When his brother turns off the call, Sherlock is unable to move, his mind racing. It was so fast and organized, he can't even imagine what is going to happen with his brother. Well, he can.

— Lestrade — he says, putting the phone back to his ear — Somebody took my brother Mycroft.

Sherlock Holmes observes the computer screen hating Mycroft's paranoia. The tracker on his brother phone points to at least 5 places all over London. Normally he would eliminate every place not close to the spot where the car was intercepted, it was a perfect planing, the kidnapper would choose a specific close place for hiding, fast kidnap for torture, as Sherlock believed it would be, but the planing was unbelievable perfect. The kidnap spot was the same distance to all the track places.

Gregory observes the nervousness of the young man, it funny to see how the detective cares about the tall ginger man. The DI doesn't even know if the heavy weight on his chest is for the tense and angry Sherlock or is for his imagination. Lestrade could imagine clearly the usually bossy man who was always gravitating in his life soffering in fear and given to the will of some crazy.

It was painful, extremely. He could remember the shocked boy from many years ago, covered in blood of his boss, extremely skinny, he was days without proper food, finding himself fat. He remembers the will of hugging the grumpy young man, of who he holdded the cold hand while driving to the hospital and Mycroft pretended to dislike the attitude.

Lestrade feels the urge grow inside, the anxiety. Anthea, the officer's assistent, puts a unnecessarily long sequence of codes on the station computer. She is shaking even more than Sherlock, pretty expression full of fear, in his later meetings with the girl, Lestrade could see how strong she was, yet the was terrified with the idea of losing her boss.

An out of place question comes in Gregory's mind, making his heart even more heavy. Does Mycroft know how much those people care about him?

— Got it! — she announce stepping away to permit the police man to see the location.

— You stay, Sherlock — Lestrade points a finger to the nervous young man while putting the bulletproof vest — I don't want a sentimental involved person in a rescue with me.

Sherlock is really too discuss, tell how the detective was sentimentally compromised as him, but the hand of the freshly arrived John Watson made him quiet. Lestrade likes that touch z the intimacy on it.

— Anthea took Louise to her house, you should go see her. She must be dying of preocupation with her uncle Myke.

Laid on the floor, a destroying relief takes Mycroft's body. He shuts his eyes strongly, holding the tears. He was going home, simply forget that, who ever was the police, he was a superior, ultra superior, the case was going to be shut and it would be like it never happened.

— Oh, my Lord, Mister Holmes — he recognised the voice immediately, rising his eyes to the man. The messed unmatched clothes, he had drunk that morning, messy hair... Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. Sundently he has to ignore a killing shame.

— Take my umbrella and pull the handle — he orders, Trying to sound calm, his breathing thumping against his throat, shutting his eyes firmly — and cut this ropes.

He obeys, putting his gun in the holster, still surprised at the sight of the man on the ground. The umbrella, which had obviously been used to beat the owner, opens on the sword. Mycroft listens to some swearing it's a "but of course!" And the inspector cuts the ropes, helping him to sit on the floor.

Gregory had never seen the man so vulnerable, but he had never seen him out of his office either, just with Louise. His face bleeds in several different places, the lip is cut into several parts, forehead erupts in blood frighteningly, and the cheek is swollen and cut.

His body was no different, the expensive T-shirt was torn, already without a sleeve, half of the buttons had to be scattered around, blood staining the white. His wrists were bleeding from the tightness of the ropes (ropes cut with the a fucking sword-umbrella). The exposed chest in some places was full of red marks. The government official had been through a few bites.

— My brother send you? — the fact of the always authoritarian voice being broken and low makes Lestrade feel like he had failed the man, for some reason he feels he was responsible for keeping him safe and healthy, so that he could shout and give orders — It is not your department.

He crouches near the unhappy figure, so they stay on the same level, but does not touch him, even felling a powerful will to do it, he did not know where he could hurt. Mycroft had such and helpless expression, exactly the same of so many years ago, the man deserved a hug.

— It's what I'm always saying... Sherlock wanted me here — Gregory reachs out to him, stand hands, without touching, and try to be as gentle as possible — Let's get you up, come one.

Mycroft swallows hard, he did not want help, he hated having to be helped, he was the British government for fucking sakes! But he gripped the inspector's hands hard to get to his feet, felling the soft pain, shivers going through his chest. Almost going back to the floor, feeling the pain and nausea overwhelm him, he holds himself in the other's hands, hating the touch, and yet wishing never being let go.

— Take me out of here, inspector — Mycroft likes to be believe that it's an order, but he practically begged, watching the dsrk eyes widen at him — Get my cell back. Do not let your men see me in this state. Just get me out of here quick.


	17. Skin over skin

Half an hour later Mycroft settled into the inspector's car, with his cell phone in hand. Now he could muffle the case more accurately and find out who hated him enough to want to put him in the position he had been before. And, specially, he could figure out the name of that bastard, and crush him under a very unpleasant shoe.

— Let's go to the hospital — Gregory grunts, slipping the belt around the man's panting chest, who grabs his hand and stares at it seriously, swollen eye, cut lips and blood everywhere. Gregory wants to caress his head, but resists, men were the most feared in England and not a little boy.

— My mansion — his voice is broken, deeper than normal and goes out painful, what makes Gregory wonder the kind of damage in the man's chest — Turn left on this next street.

— I'm not taking you home! You are not only bleeding and broken, as you are delirious — he speeds up, decided to take the man to the Barts... Molly could get a good and discreet doctor for him, if he couldn't do it alone, even in that state — So many years after, and you still are afraid of hospitals

— I'm not afraid of hospitals, Gregory! Stop the car — Mycroft manages to unclog the feeler and tries to sit with his back straight, so he can speak in a more firm voice, a pulsating pain goes through his backs, but he manages to — Stop the car!

Gregory obeyed, only to argue with the man to explain that it was madness, but he did not stand a chance, Holmes just opens the door and walks away, leaning on his umbrella as if it were a cane, slowly toward his mansion. If Lestrade remembers well, this one is on the other side of town. The detective inspector watches him for a moment. He was a strong bastard, smirking, he jumps out of the car.

— All right, I'll take you home — With only a few steps he stands in front of the other, barring his passage. Noticing, at an untimely moment, that Mycroft is indeed red-haired and not dark haired as he believed, it was beautiful, he should be out more in the sun — Let's go to the car — in a quick move he takes the umbrella from the man's hand, holding his arm to give support.

Mycroft grimaces at the touch, maybe he was hurt there too, but Gregory does not take off the hand, just stares at the man's battered face, trying just to be more delicate. Wide green eyes.

— Are you going to take me home, or do you just want to steal my makeshift cane so I have to obey you? — although bent over by the pain and all the blood, Mycroft tries to appear haughty enough to frighten him. The truth is that Lestrade finds it kind of adorable, he could just pretend to listen the grumpy taller man and hold him, calming the raced breathing down — And I do not need you holding me to my feet.

— Yes, you do.— he grabs the other arm, holding it, slitly playful. But Gregory regrets immediately, realising that the other hesitates for a moment, eyes startled and defensive. Even the UK man of confidence could be affected by a trauma. — Let's go to the car, shall we?

During the trip Mycroft wonders why the inspector had to touch him. He hated when people insisted on a contact other than the handshake, physical contact made him cranky, exposed. Only Louise changed that, the small hand were always welcome. Now when the ID touched him a sudden fear struck him, his mind showing all the ways the cop was stronger than him, how he could destroying.

When younger, Mycroft Holmes was the kind of boy who would get all possible hatred in school. Fat (he's solving it) and smarter than everyone else he was a perfect and vulnerable target. The touching that times were always painful. When he grew old and became (as Sherlock spoke) the British government, he convinced himself that they would never hurt him that way, he was powerful and feared.

In a flash, the bitter taste come to his throat and Mycroft put a hand on his mouth to hold the vomit. Now he was there, broken, bleeding, hating every part of himself and disgusted with his own body. He had not felt that way in years. Mycroft closes his eyes, trying to get into his mental palace. Maybe some moment with Sherlock when they were little, maybe Theres's laugh.

Mycroft open eyes, after abandoning his sister as he abandoned this was the punishment he deserved. His sisters, of course. He had not visited Eurus for weeks now. The government officer looks out the window leaving the filth of what happened before invade him. His throat hurts, once more he swallows the urge to vomit. He needs control right now. It was his fault, there was nothing to do about it, just accept. Accept and stay calm.

And, before, the inspector touched him. Mycroft resists the will to shake the thought of his mind. Gregory touched him with caring, how it really matters, but that sounded silly enough to make him smirk. He was the older brother, the uncle, the British government, he was the protector, nobody should need to take care of him. Nobody wanted.

— We are almost there — Gregory tries to sound tranquilizing, he observes Mycroft worried. It almost sounded absurd, worried with Mycroft Holmes. — What we will do when we get there? Do you have a private doctor or something like that?

Mycroft doesn't answer, he just wanted to get home, faster as possible, he is unable to gather the straight to talk. Minute by minute, his forces leave the hurt body, pain increasing. His mind was focous in the pain, every part of his body pulsating with his heart. The weakness come with the shivers, teeth knocking, the cold sensation. Maybe he could pass away, but all that humiliation would kill him.

— Louise knows my doctor's name, she can make a call and everything will be fine — he shut his eyes, just wanting to go home.

Gregory shakes his head, the worry growing, the man took at least three minutes to answer, was shaking desperately and was turning paler by the second. The inspector ignores the will of screaming at London's traffic.

The government officer forced his eyes to stay open and start to observing the policeman. The undone beard has more grey hair than black, the hair follows the line, messy. Before he could stop himself, the shaky hand goes up to the sparky skin, delicate fingers making Lestrade's heart sink.

— You are going to be fine, Mycroft, everything is going to be fine — the inspector takes the other's hand, convinced he will manage to drive only with one. The foggy green eyes are on him.

— I never thought it was going to happen something like that — the deep voice is almost disappearing — I had to... He made me... — the other hand goes up to the hurt lips, fingertips touching all it draw — Gregory, how will I face Louise? How can I explain her this?

Mycroft feels the hard hold in his hand and, surprisingly, it calms him down, making the painful tears more comfortable. The car stops, his mansion looked unnecessarily big through the window. They were a family of two, why he wanted a gigantic thing like that?

— Mycroft, look at me — he obeys, unable to explain why his eyes focous directly on the older man lips — I'm so sorry for what happened — the green manage to fall in the dark — You are going to be fine now, lay on you bed while your doctor is on his way, you niece and me will cook something for you — Mycroft let his head fall back. Food? — Yes, you have to feed. Is it possible that you didn't grow up a bit? Hey — Gregory holds the cold hand in his chest — Louise is imensily intelligent, she will understand.

The mansion's door open in a loud noise, and at least half of Mycroft's pain fades in the sight of his girl. Louise didn't even took the school clothes of, blue eyes extremely worried, a little bit red. What kind of uncle was he? She was crying.

— Uncle Mycroft — she opens the cars door and passed the sight through the damage man. He was hurt, crying, holding Lestrade's hand, looked extremely fragile — Oh, uncle Myke — she grab the free hand, not knowing if hugging was an allowed thing — I'm taking care of you, you are going to be just fine.

Gregory gets out of the car to help Mycroft to his feet. The hurt man keep a firm hold on Louise from the front door to the bedroom, even sat in the bed, green eyes on the terrified blue ones. Louise calls Doctor Strauss without even taking the hand of Mycroft's.

— I thought I was going to lose you, uncle Myke — she wispers, ignoring the inspector completely — You have to take a shower, I'll put some clothes on the bed for you, just leave you alone for you to change clothes and...

Mycroft put a finger on her lips, slight smile making all the blood look silly. The small hands went through the hurt face delicately erasing the tears.

— I'm going to be ok, Louise, calm down — he answer softly, one hand on her's the other on her hair — Have you feed yourself today?

— Fuck the food, uncle Mycroft! — stamborn tear fall on their feet, the scene making Gregory want to sit with them and hold the two — I almost lost you! I can't lose you! I can't, you are the only one I have! What would I do without you? I can't even hug you because of a fucking ass hole who hurt you so badly!

Mycroft takes her to his leap, ignoring all the pain, and allow himself to cry with her. Gregory feels like an Intruder, so he walks to the closet and takes the cleaner and soft pijamas he found and put it on the bed beside them. He was close enough to rise a hand and touch them, but he couldn't.

— I was take a shower, Little one — he, in a hid moaning, put her back in her feet and stand — Take Gregory down stairs. Inspector, please feed her.

Lestrade grabs her hand and, even if the blue eyes were stuck on her uncle, she follows him down stairs. Mycroft thank it silently, maybe in the shower he could force himself to stop the crying.


	18. One more glass of wine

hey, those of you guys who ship Mystrade might like my other fic. "the umbrella and the shotgun" it's a short fic about mystrade. thanks

Gregory is ought to force those two to swallow something or he would turn violent, but there was no need. When Mycroft came downstairs Louise sat him on what should be his place on the table, and putted a huge plate of pasta in front on him, then another two close by. They stare silently and apparently got into an agreement. Both eat.

— Why are you alone?— with one eye on Mycroft behaviour, he tries to keep her talkative — I asked John and Sherlock to check you in here.

— They came and told me what was happening — she get up to put two glass of wine on the table and a bottle, careful eyes on Mycroft — But I send them away, uncle Myke would be more comfortable without them when back.

Mycroft smiles slightly to her, and servers himself and Gregory with a good amount of wine, never making eye contact with the other man. Now showered and clean, just waiting for his doctor, he was passing through the shame. The inspector has to resist the will to hold his hand again. Louise does it, holding tight.

— Ian said you put him as my new bodyguard — she makes him rise his eyes, putting some play in the green. Who was Ian? Gregory wonder why the stranger was being treated with so intimacy — You should take him as yours, as we can see.

Mycroft smirks, shaking his head, the grey haired man observes it mesmerized, it was a sweet smile. The inspector was, undeniably, only a observer in the scene, Louise and her uncle were playing their everyday game, she was trying to keep him on his calm.

— I am the very last person Ian might want to take care of — he bounds to put their eyes on the same level — As I believe you already know. When did he told you?

— Yesterday, in lunch — the kid answer with half of her mouth still with food, no fear of the low and serious voice, Gregory smirks with Mycroft's eye roll — About mom and you two — he puts a finger on her lips, forcing her to chew before speak again. It's a sweet movement, Gregory feels a smile growing on his own face — I like him, uncle Myke.

— Of course you do — the green don't leave her, proud — He just needed to be sweet with you. Isn't that dangerous, inspector Lestrade?

— Definitely, mister Holmes — now they were back to last names, but its ok, Mycroft was trying to put the inspector on the talk — But, apparently, he is an old friend of the family.

The two man stare, both visibility bother with something. Louise can fell Gregory didn't manage to accept the existence of Ian, she wonders if he realises why. The same was with uncle Mycroft, the very hurt and still shaking uncle Myke, he is confused, she can't tell if is for the answer or for the "mister Holmes". She decided is better letting them alone, maybe without wanting to look strong in front of her Mycroft could relax.

— Doctor Strauss is taking too long I will... — before she can even stand there's a knock on the front door — It must be her.

Gregory stands, taking the gun out of the belt, his look serious telling them to stay sit. Mycroft grabs Louise's hand, and observes while leaving policeman answer the door, it was, indeed, a good idea to be paranoic.

— Good afternoon, mister who I don't know — a short and very skinny woman passes through Gregory without even bothering about the gun and walks towards the kitchen — Oh, Mycroft.

— I'm going to bed, uncle Myke — Louise stands, taking her plate off the table. Mycroft follows her with the green eyes — Are you going to be fine? I can stay here. Can I stay on you bed tonight? Or I'm going to hurt if I do?

Louise speaks fast big blue eyes going through her uncle's bandages, Gregory finds her preocupation amusing. Their dinamics is more organized then Gregory's life. The trust, the caring and, especially, the dependence they developed was sincere enough to be better than Gregory's former marriage.

— I'm feeling way better, small one, no pain and just safe — Mycroft's hand goes through her short and lightly curly hair. Gregory thanks silently she doesn't know why her uncle won't feel safe again in a long time. The thought bring, once again, the will to hold the ginger's hand — And having you with me tonight is going to calm me down. I would be really thankful if you stayed there.

— Ok — she hugs him delicately, kissing his cheek, their shameless on love demonstrations confuses Gregory, Mycroft seems the man who would never allow that — Good night, uncle Mycroft — the blue eyes come to Gregory and she take some steps to hug him. The kid was skinny and small, but held him tightly — Good night, inspector Lestrade, thank you so much for bringing him back home.

— Good night, kiddo — The inspector is about to get up, after they've heard Louise finish climbing the stairs, watching the man rub his palms together, tiredly. He deserved some time with his niece. — I think I'd better..

— Stay.— He listens softly and the other stares at him, the steady greens were slightly reddish, it was not being easy for him. — Help me finish this — he points to the wine bottle, averting his eyes, cheeks flushed. — Unless you are really desperate to go home.

Gregory was not, not like a normal day. Spending those hours with them saved him gives exhaustion, shearing the, although hurt, sweet company of the ginger man made his day easier. Back to the loneliness of his apartment, full of bad memories and more alcohol, it was a sad idea. He sits more comfortably in the chair.

Mycroft Holmes seems destroyed, as soon as the niece went up the stairs it was all he could be. A broken man. Gregory did not know everything, how terrible he might be feeling, he can only imagine the unsettleling sensation of being vulnerable to the wills and desires of another man. He fills the cup of the redhead and watches it get empty fast. Gregory wanted to show some support, but Mycroft would not welcome it, of course, he only see him as an inspector, if he did not obey the other in a specific situation he would be discarded at the time, but the man's lost look gives him courage to lift.

As Mycroft had imagined, he was leaving. Of course he would. Why Lestrade would be drinking with a man who from the first time they saw only gives him orders. The inspector probably hated him, he did not have much to love anyway. Yet helped him through that fucked day. A better man than he will ever be in life.

For Mycroft's surprise, Gregory sits beside him, taking a shy deep breath. The green eyes stay in him, curious, surprise. He would really stay, just because the government officer wasn't with his neutral expression, like he actually cares. Shaking his head, the ginger takes another full glass of wine.

— She's a brave brat — he says, shaking his head with an impressed smile trying to hold a dialogue. Mycroft retains his roll eyes, part of himself hates small talk, but the government officer holds the unpleasant commentary. Although Lestrade may not be talented at words, he was at least trying.

— She is... she always have being. Louise was brave even when it could possibly not be. Even when I, the grown-up, was terrified — Mycroft stares into his own hands, he can feel his pulse at the tips of his fingers — I remember when I went to fetch her in the hospital... She was so small, so sad and lonely. Suspicious of everything... When I brought her home it was exactly like a cat exploring, walked through each room, looked at each thing, always facing me with blue eyes ...

Greg watches the man's normally cold eyes get out of focus and tear up. Maybe it was officially too much for his mental health, broken enough to cry. The inspector never imagined Mycroft Holmes crying. The government official stands and turns to the sink, leaning on it, with his back to Greg, hiding his tears.

— She was expecting something bad from me — Mycroft realizes that he couldn't stop talking, his mind clouded back to those days, the today, so many memories. What if he could make it diferent? Talking that way to Gregory wasn't solve it, but a heavy beat in his chest was begging him to talk — Eyes like Sherlock's, same as Theres's ... Fearful of me, as if I were abuse her.

Gregory, for the second time in the evening, takes a momentum of courage and stands next to the man, resisted the urge to put his hand on his shoulder or hold the clenched fist. The inspector just stand close. Mycroft closes his eyes tightly, with the memories, with the shame of crying, tears falling on the sink.

— Bathing her was an exhausting task, I would not trust anyone else of course, to have strangers touching her was to cruel... — he sighs and opens his eyes focusing on the wall before him, never looking at Greg, this one silently thanks, at that moment all I could do was observe the handsome profile of the man — She cried softly until I covered her with the towel, she used to hug that piece of cloth as if it were her only salvation — Mycroft gives a side smile — I've always been very bad at combing her hair — he laughs dryly, making Gregory let a sweet smile show. — For the first few weeks she slept beside me, as far as possible in bed, after a while she started waking up in my lap. I guess I was saver sleeping. Louise took a year to trust me completely, to stay by my side while I was working, smile when I came back home, even hug me eventually, very fast — Mycroft's hand goes to his own cheast, in pain or joy, Gregory couldn't say. — The first time I heard her voice in this house was Also the first time she accepted sit in my lap while I was on my arm chair. She putted the small head on my chest "Thank you, uncle Mycroft".

The man bounds in pain in the sink, more tears coming. Mycroft knows he wasn't a good person, but he would make it diferent if he could, maybe doing it diferent the punishment wouldn't be so hard.

— If I was more present on her life, in Theres's life, all could be different. I could have save them, I could have answered the fucking phone. Maybe Louise could have trusted me before.

Mycroft stares at him, greens lost in the red, expression overflowing defiance, as if expecting some joke or rudeness, Lestrade just leans his shoulder in the other's. He does not know what to say, or what to do, maybe that physical contact is welcome. Gregory just stared at him afterwards, wanting to say he saved the girl's life, that Lou would never be as happy as she was with him, but he could not find words. They just stared.

— Your eyes are beautiful — that's all what comes out, but Gregory do not regret for saying it. It was true. Mycroft widens his deep green eyes, analyzing his face. — I mean... Even though they are red, I mean... — He looks around, the big, expensive kitchen oppressing him for a moment, flexing his shoulders, practically shrinking, still feeling the heavy greens in his face — You did your best for Lou — Lestrade looks at the redhead, who looks at him with sharp eyes, a little less threatening after what he said before — And it was great, she is happy with you, she adores you... So brave, intelligent and good with everyone she knows. Mr. Holmes, she it the one who is going to make this pain of yours go away, I do not even know if it is possible, but if it is, she will make you get better.

Then, finding no words that would not embarrass him in front of someone so intelligent, he did what Mycroft did not expect. Gregory hugged him. The government officer was taller and hard to wrap around, but the inspector made an effort. If anyone had asked, not, he had not tiptoed, but Mycroft noticed that he did, and he also noticed the strong smell of coffee that the inspector exuded, and how his heart was calm within his chest, slowly accelerating. And he liked to notice these little things. Hours later the redheaded realised no fear came from that hug.

Gregory didn't expected the man to return the hug, and when two trembling hands grasp his waist lightly, he makes no comment or movement, the less ashamed Mycroft gets, better, perhaps will help him relax. Gregory hold strong, without getting the "male beats" on the other's back, Mycroft Holmes could be a giant, but it seemed wrong to hit him, even if caring.

When they step away, the detective inspector smiles, but Mycroft only stares at him, startled, slightly flushed. Lestrade likes those green eyes even though they are the same greens that gave him orders or asked for information about Sherlock. And, specially, Gregory likes the light red on the other's cheeks.

— Well, I'm going home. — He slaps his hands on his thighs, strangely embarrassed by what he has just done. Mycroft does not move a muscle, just staring at him. — The little girl must already be sleeping, and we should follow her example. Even more, Mr. Holmes — the British government nodded, unable to find words, watching the man go.

The closer he got to the door, Mycroft felt a strange tightness in his chest, an urgency to do something. Maybe as a thank-you for saving him, or for hearing that cheesy outburst.

— Inspector? — Gregory turns to him, eyebrows raised, questioning, he find it funny to hear that slight insecurity in the other's voice — Call me Mycroft, please. And thank you. For bringing me home — he look for words — For ... For everything.


End file.
